


The Captains Prerogative

by CaptainLyssa



Series: Captain's Prerogative Universe [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternative Universe: attempting to stay in cannon, Angst, Character Study, Drama, Episodes season one - AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Maquis, Married Command Team, Romance, tomkat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 67,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22556176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLyssa/pseuds/CaptainLyssa
Summary: Captain Kathryn Paris, married to a man eight years her junior has never had an issue serving on the same vessel, due to her husband’s role as an Intelligence officer. When they get stranded together in the DQ, on the same ship, how is their personal and professional relationship going to survive the journey home.
Relationships: Edward Janeway/Gretchen Janeway, Harry Kim/B'Elanna Torres, Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris, Owen Paris/Owen Paris' Wife
Series: Captain's Prerogative Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588462
Comments: 25
Kudos: 29





	1. Caretaker

_Shimmer._

_Whine._

Three men from the Maquis ship appeared on the bridge of _Voyager_. The officers at the tactical and operations stations immediately drew their weapons in response to the perceived threat. Even the young woman at the helm stood and twisted around, phaser in hand and pointed at the invited intruders.

“Lower your weapons,” ordered the Captain, indicating the command applied to both crews with a wave of her hand and intense look. Those in Starfleet uniform complied instantly, as did one of the leather clad terrorists. “You won't need those here,” the woman’s grey eyes narrowed on the Maquis Commander. Only when Chakotay indicated his companions should follow her order did the Captain’s orbs flick to the man she hadn’t seen in almost six months. A slight smirk curled up the corners of her lips as she greeted her long-time colleague. “It's good to have you back, Mr. Paris.”

“It’s good to be back, Captain,” the blue eyed blond smirked, unable to hide his irrepressible nature, even under the current circumstances. Turning to the Maquis Commander, his shoulders shrugged carelessly as Tom offered “sorry, Chakotay.”

“Were you going to deliver us into their waiting hands, Loc…Paris?” spat the incensed man, his expression one of betrayal.

“My mission,” Tom Paris’s blue eyes narrowed, become a stormy grey, “was to accumulate information on Cardassian activities, and infractions against the Federation-Cardassian treaty. The best way to achieve that was infiltrating your organisation. Serving on _Val Jean,_ and with you in particular, was just chance.”

“We have a lot to accomplish,” the Captain interrupted the glacial glares between the two men on her bridge. “I suggest we all concentrate on finding our people and getting ourselves back home. Mr. Paris, you can use my ready room to change into an appropriate uniform.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he responded easily. In a lightning fast change of attitude, a cheeky grin accompanied the twinkle in Tom’s orbs before he confidently moved towards the doors beside the Vulcan’s tactical station.

Unwilling to show any emotion in the charged atmosphere, the Captain’s lips curled further at the corners with the provocation. It was obvious Mr. Paris’s natural wit managed to improve the mood and the Captain’s attitude in even the most trying situations. Instead of allowing her gaze to follow the childish man, Kathryn called to her tactical officer, “report, Mr. Tuvok.”

“Based on my initial reconnaissance, Captain, I am convinced we are dealing with a single entity in the array,” the Vulcan stated in an emotionless tone. “I would suggest he scanned our computers in order to select a comfortable holographic environment in which to linger, in effect, a waiting room to pacify us prior to biometric assessment.”

“An examination?” the Captain exclaimed. Yet it made sense to her scientific mind.

“It is the most logical explanation. Why else would he have released us unharmed?” Tuvok questioned.

“Not all of us were,” Tom Paris reappeared on the bridge in a black uniform with command red piping across the chest and at the cuff. No rank appeared at his collar, nor did he wear a com badge. Everyone understood he wasn’t under the Captain’s chain of command in the Intelligence uniform. “May I lead an away team to the array, Captain?” He asked politely, although he seemed to ooze authority.

Logically, sending an intelligence operative made sense. Yet the Captain hesitated just a moment too long. “Do I have a choice, Commander?” The Captain allowed her eyebrow to rise in a very Vulcan gesture.

“No,” the irrepressible man returned, “but I thought it was polite to ask as this is your ship.”

“Break out the compression phaser rifles, Mr. Tuvok,” Kathryn agreed with a decisive nod of her head. Turning to Mr. Paris she stated, “I’ll meet you in Transporter Room two, Commander.”

Grinning like a six-year old, Tom stated, “I think I can handle this one on my own, Captain.”

“I’m sure you can,” she responded, finally unable to keep a full smile off her face. “It’s your decided lack of diplomacy in this situation that worries me.”

“I thought that was your reason for sending Tuvok,” Paris’s expression changed once again, just as suddenly as before. Beside him the Maquis Commander and security escort stood seething and dumbfounded respectively. It didn’t stop Tom addressing them as if their superior officer. “Chakotay, Ayala, you’re with me. You need to get B’Elanna back,” Tom indicated the Maquis follow him to the turbolift. Mounting the two stairs, he didn’t look back but continued to issue orders. “We'll divide into teams. While Chakotay and I are looking for Torres and Kim, your job, Tuvok,” the Commander waited for the Vulcan to join them, “is to find out as much about this array as you can. It brought us here. We have to assume it can send us home.”

“Orders, Captain?” Mr. Rollin’s requested before the turbolift closed out the away team.

“Keep them on constant transporter lock, Ensign,” Kathryn stated, a wistful expression in her eyes as she watched the four men leave, before returning to sit in her chair, “and maintain Red alert.”

“Aye, Captain,” the response echoed slightly as the door finally hissed closed.

It was only then, Chakotay noticed the gold band encircling the third finger of Paris’s left hand. He’d never worn the archaic symbol of marriage on _Val Jean_. Remembering the easy banter between Paris and Voyager’s Captain, they’d obviously known and served with each other. Then Chakotay recalled a similar ring on the Captain’s digit, flashing in the harsh light as she stood, watching them exit her bridge.

“Captain Paris will not be impressed with you upsurging her authority, Commander,” Tuvok stated.

Even Chakotay could read the concern in the Vulcan’s tone. It explained much of the subtle emotion saturating the atmosphere on the bridge. Shuddering, he knew what was coming, even before Loc…Paris opened his mouth.

“My wife rarely is, Tuvok,” Paris grinned easily. “At least her ire will be aimed at me.”


	2. History

“Admiral Janeway,” Captain Paris stepped into his superior’s office.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice, Mr. Paris,” Edward smiled at the younger officer. “Stand at ease man, this is not official business. I have a personal favour to ask?”

Making a noise in the back of his throat formed the Captain’s only response. Favour, personal or professional, from an Admiral no less, was something few would dare to deny. Captain Paris served with Janeway early in his career, reconnecting when their daughters attended the same school in San Francisco. They knew of each other, not enough to label the relationship more than colleagues.

“I believe you’ve met my daughter, Kathryn,” Admiral Janeway indicated the young girl standing at his side.

Nodding, Owen Paris smiled brightly. “My twins and your daughter are in the same class this year.” He didn’t need to add that many of the generational Starfleet families enrolled their children in the same prestigious and exclusive school. Those carrying the Janeway and Paris name had attended the institution for over a hundred years.

“Hello, Sir,” Katheryn offered politely before her expression changed to concern. “I want you to know, Captain, this was not my idea.”

“What my daughter is trying to say,” Edward smiled at the girl affectionately, “is that she’s been accepted into Starfleet Preparatory School, along with your Catherine and Stephanie. As you know, they commence in a few months.”

Now Owen Paris understood. “It’s a very long commute from Bloomington every day with the workload required,” he stated blandly. “You know, we have an old and very large house on the bay, not far from the Pre-Academy. My wife’s always complaining it’s not filled with children the way she’d like, even though my brood constantly have friends over. I’m sure **_my_** Catherine and Stephanie would welcome the company. Besides, Róisín makes the commute every day to drop young Tom at school.

“Bright boy,” Admiral Janeway commented.

“That’s what his teachers tell me,” Owen frowned slightly.

“Not living up to his potential?” Edward asked with mild concern.

“Hardly,” Owen’s expression faltered for just a second.

“I have one of those you know,” the Admiral sympathised. “Phoebe’s not as disciplined as Kathryn. I don’t think she’ll ever attend the Academy.”

“My sister is the artistic type,” Kathryn offered in her siblings’ defence. “Starfleet is not in her blood.”

“Tom’s just lazy,” Owen stated, regretting the outburst the moment the words were out of his mouth.

“Maybe,” Kathryn offered with an easy smile, “I could spend some time with him. I know Tom’s only seven, Captain, but I’m not one of his sisters. Besides,” she managed a disarming grin, “I always wanted a brother, especially one who would follow me around and think I was special. The way Steph and Kath talk,” pausing, she knew she’d said too much not to continue, “They leave Tom with Lizzy, a lot. I’m not sure that’s fair on the poor kid.”

Edward Janeway smiled good naturedly. “Matter of perspective, Owen. Maybe young Tom just wants to be doing what is sisters are.”

Finally, the Paris humour erupted. “What, dressing in the latest fashions and chasing boys. He’s more likely to appropriate my runabout and try piloting it.”

“I think Katheryn did the same,” Edward couldn’t help the chuckle, “at about that age.”

It was all arranged very quickly between the two great men. Kathryn Janeway would live at the Paris house from Sunday night to Friday evening. After school got out for the week, Steph Paris accompanied her friend to Indiana, sometimes with her twin, not so often with Lizzy Paris and on the rare occasion with young Tom, when his father would let him. Gretchen Janeway learnt to loath weekdays and prayed all four Paris children would transport to the old and roomy farmhouse for the weekend. She liked it best when Róisín Paris accompanied her children. The women found they had a lot in common with husbands almost married to Starfleet.

One year led into another and before anyone realised it, the Paris twins and Kathryn Janeway had been accepted into Starfleet Academy’s San Francisco campus. Stephanie chose the command stream, Catherine Paris medical and Kathryn Janeway science. The visits to the old house on the bay started out weekly, all too soon became bi-weekly and finally monthly as the work load increased and leave passes decreased. By their second year, Kathryn and Stephanie visited once a semester, leaving their weekend leave pass for a trip to Indiana.

Nine-year-old Thomas missed his sisters but more especially their friend, who always had a moment to tease or play or explain some scientific concept that boggled him. Two years later, everything changed. Lizzy went off to Starfleet’s Academy on Vulcan, choosing a diplomatic degree offered only on that world. She would come home for the yearly break, if she didn’t choose to attend the summer session. Captain Paris took a more active posting on the _Al-Batani_. He came home one week in thirteen, leaving Mrs. Róisín Paris and her son rattling around in their San Francisco home.

“Mrs. Janeway,” twelve-year-old Thomas Paris loved to come to the farm house with his mother. They visited Indiana more often, which gave him the feeling of being closer to Katie and maintaining the friendship. “Can I take one of the horses riding?”

“It will give your mother and I time to catch up,” Gretchen smiled easily, watching the young man with boundless energy barrel out the back door. “I bet he’s a handful,” she offered to a tired looking Róisín Paris

“I kind of miss the girls, now that’s its only Tom and I,” Róisín offered with a sardonic frown. “When Owen comes home, he and Tom do nothing but fight.”

“It’s the age,” Gretchen offered easily. “Phoebe and her father were exactly the same. It improved when Edward finally accepted he couldn’t control her life. Unfortunately, he turned his attentions to Kathryn and was made an Admiral at the same time.”

“That might have been to Kathryn’s advantage,” Róisín managed though her laughter. “Oh, Gretchen, they’re cut from the same cloth, your husband and daughter.”

“I think,” the older woman stated easily, “you don’t give your son and husband enough credit.”

Sobering at the words, Róisín shook her head. “Believe me, it’s exactly the opposite with Tom and Owen. The girls, they are all their father. Tom, he’s just not put together that way.”

“You don’ think he’ll go into Starfleet,” Gretchen asked curiously. “From what I’ve seen, young Tom’s made for it, especially with all that energy and drive.”

“My son is only motivated by the things that interest him,” Róisín sighed, “like flying and sailing. Anything that’s dangerous seems to come naturally to Tom. It drives Owen mad!”

Unable to hold in her mirth, Gretchen Janeway chuckled. Tom Paris would always be a handful, especially for his future commanding officer. “I never would have believed it,” she finally managed to draw in a deep breath. In all the years she known the young man, he was forever getting up to some mischief or the other. When Róisín Paris started to giggle in response, the women couldn’t stop their laughter. It proved to be cathartic.

“That’s what I love about coming here,” Tom smiled, watching the two women share yet another joke when he returned from riding, “you always relax, Mom.”

Another year passed and before anyone knew it, the Paris’s and Janeway’s were attending their eldest daughter’s graduation from Starfleet Academy. Still on the _Al-Batani_ , Captain Paris requested Kathryn Janeway as his science officer and protégé. Six months into her posting came the Arias expedition. It changed them all. What should have been a simple scientific recognisance mission became a dark time in the lives of both families. For three weeks Captain Paris and Ensign Janeway were missing in action. When they came home, they never spoke of their incarceration in a Cardassian prison.

At fifteen, Thomas Paris followed his sisters into Starfleet Prep School as expected. At sixteen he cracked the codes to his father’s computer in his home office. Now an Admiral stationed in San Francisco, Tom read about the torture that changed his father’s personality. While he understood, Tom loathed the uncompromising man, yet continued to seek his approval and love. He’d never been able to do anything right, now nothing was good enough and he was expected to study day and night. Even his mother was having a hard time adjusting, as the heated exchanges between his parents when they thought he wasn’t listening proved.

“Kate,” Tom’s shocked tone accompanied a similar expression. It had been a couple of years since he’d seen her for more than a moment. The changes were obvious, even if he hadn’t read about her ordeal at the hands of the Cardassian’s.

“Tom,” she nodded stiffly. “I’m here to see your father. Admiral Paris has an errand for me.”

“It’s called babysitting his wayward son,” Tom’s face dropped. “Mom and Dad are going to some function for the weekend. Apparently, I’m not to be trusted, even though I’m seventeen and about to enter Starfleet Academy.”

Her grey eyes watched him, impassively. Nodding, she entered the hallway and approached the Admirals home office. Knocking, Kathryn Janeway was admitted immediately. Fuming as he watched, it had never been that easy for Tom to get his father’s attention. Yet the resentment was aimed at his father, not the newly promoted Lieutenant.

“You were right,” offered Kathryn a quarter of an hour later, “and wrong. Stephany and Catherine will both be home. It’s meant to be a house party, just like old times.”

“Just like old times,” Tom nursed a beer, even though he was underage. No one was paying the least attention to him and hadn’t been since his parents left last night. Shaking his head, he’d observed his sisters and their friend covertly. If his father attempted to use this as an excuse for drawing Kathryn Janeway out, it failed miserably.

Catherine Paris and her latest boyfriend were necking on the couch in the living room, oblivious to anything or anyone. Tom hoped she wouldn’t marry Lt. Commander Johnston. He was both boring and a stickler for the rules. Stephany and Jab were in the kitchen, talking about how to break the news they’d married on Trill two years ago and were expecting their first child. Neither Paris parent knew, thanks to the fact Jab took his wife’s surname. Kathryn Janeway, more withdrawn than he’d ever seen her, swam in the pool and kept herself apart from everyone else. Only Tom knew why and became determined to do something about it.

“A penny for them,” he offered, watching her faraway expression as she came up for a breath. He’d placed himself at the end of her lane, sitting with his legs dangling carelessly in the water.

“Another one of your archaic expressions?” she teased, but there was no humour behind her eyes. Treading water, she observed him impassively.

“We use to be friends once,” Tom offered with a non-committal shrug. “You knew me well enough not to ask something so obvious.”

“We grew up, Tom,” she growled, looking away. “At least, I did.”

“I read the report,” was all he needed to say.

“And you think you can help me,” she spat, incensed that he’d invaded her privacy, “when two years of counselling didn’t?”

Shrugging, he lifted the bottle to his mouth before offering it to her. The expression in Tom’s eyes challenging. Never one to back away, Janeway swam to the edge of the pool, pulled herself up to sit beside him and accepted the dare.

“Did that help,” Tom asked several hours and drinks later. At some point they’d switched to a heavy Merlot found in the pantry. It was left over from one of his mother’s weekends in the Nappa Valley. Just when they’d taken it to his room, neither would ever remember. Why they fell into bed was another mystery.

“Yes,” Kathryn stated, “and no. Your technic leaves a lot to be desired, Mr. Paris.”

Embarrassed, Tom couldn’t tell her she’d been his first. It had been sloppy and over far too quick to please either of them. His expression and inability to meet Kathryn’s eyes explained his inexperience. She laughed, which encouraged him to try again. One thing Thomas Paris hated, was being average. When he liked doing something, either he practiced until achieving perfection or became disinterested.

“I don’t need you to tell me,” he crowed, watching her mumble something under her breath, “I know that helped. One day, Kate, I’m going to marry you.”

Snorting, Kathryn Janeway found the energy to turn over and face him. “You’re not even officially a cadet, yet, Tom. I’m eight years older than you. Starting something is against the rules. How many more obstacles do you want to put in your way? I know you like a challenge, but this is ridiculous.”

Taking her hand, he curled her fingers into her palm. “One,” he kissed the digit, “I’ll be done with the Academy in four years. Two,” up came the next one, “I don’t care that you’re a cradle snatcher. I’ve almost known you since I was in that cradle. Three, fraternisation only applies if were in the same chain of command. Your science, I’m a pilot. Four, we already started something. I mean it Kate, even though you don’t believe me. The day I graduate, we’re getting married.”

“You’re impossible, Tom Paris,” she sighed. Yet she felt hope that her life might just take on meaning sometime in the future.

“Sleep on it,” he suggested. “I guarantee this will all look a lot more possible in the morning.

It didn’t. She was gone before he woke up, but it was little more than Tom expected. He’d rattled her and knew he had to continue to do so. Kate’s psyche needed a wake-up call. She’d been wallowing in a self-imposed misery for long enough. Life went on and he’d given her a taste of what it could be like.

A week went by before Kathryn Janeway came to the house again. She’d intended to slip in and out, unable to face Tom now he’d woken a need in her. As if he knew she was there, he appeared in the hall as she exited the Admirals study.

“You can add another complication,” Kathryn informed him in her best ironic tone. She’d thought about little else in the last week, knowing that if Tom Paris wanted something badly enough, he’d find a way to get it. “I’ve been posted to _Sutherland_ for two years exploration of deep space.”

Shrugging, Tom stated, “I’ll wait and do some of that growing up your so fond of.” A smile covered his lips at her expression of distress. “In the meantime,” he offered with the wisdom of someone far older than his seventeen years, “I’m not expecting you to stay celibate, only uncommitted. Heck knows, after last weekend, I won’t. Besides, you’ve heard of a comm system?”

With that, he placed a hand in the middle of her back. He’d discomposed her completely both with his words and touch. “When do you ship out?”

“Three days,” Kathryn finally found her mind and managed to engage it. She didn’t like the direction this was going. “I am not spending them with you, Tom Paris. I have to say goodbye to my parents.”

“Want a bet,” he challenged, before calling down the hall. “Mom, I’m escorting Kathryn to Indiana.

Coming out of the kitchen, Róisín Paris looked stricken. “Owen told me last night. I know it’s a good posting for your career, but we’re going to miss you around here.” Giving the girl a hug as if she were one of her own children, tears appeared in the older woman’s eyes. “Get out of here, you two. If I know Gretchen, she’ll invite you to stay, Tom.”

“I’m planning on it,” he smirked.

“Luggage,” Kathryn spoke in a sarcastic tone, hoping to get rid of the young man as they walked towards the local transporter station.

“Yee of little faith,” Tom teased, leading her towards the Starfleet instillation at the end of the road.

It wasn’t until they reached the old farmhouse that Kathryn realised the extent of Tom’s association with her family. He kept several changes of clothes in one of the spare rooms. Her mother doted on him because he managed to do all those odd jobs her father kept putting off. Even Admiral Janeway didn’t blink an eye when he returned home to find the young man at his dinner table.

“Did you come to exercise the horses today, Tom,” Edward asked pleasantly.

“No Sir,” Tom grinned, kicking Kathryn under the table. “I escorted your daughter home after she received her new orders. I want to tell you to expect me as a son-in-law the moment I graduate.”

Laughing, Edward Janeway knew Tom Paris only too well. “If you can get my Kate to agree to that,” his eyes settled on his daughter. Noticing her tension, he knew something had occurred between them. “I’ll happily walk her down the aisle and into your care.”

 _If this young man has managed to get Katie into bed after what happened to her,_ he considered watching the open body language from Tom Paris and the sudden closing of his daughter’s gapping jaw, _then he might just be the man she needs_ _._ _I’ll be watching over the next few days, but I believe I know why that young man is really here and my daughters not going to be sleeping alone_.

Catching his wife’s eye, Gretchen’s expression hid her well composed pleasure. It seemed she agreed with the relationship. “I’ll clean up and bake a batch of caramel brownies while you exercise those old horses,” her gaze rested on Tom and Kathryn. “I know they are your favourite and this calls for a celebration.”


	3. Changes

“He’s dead,” Kathryn sobbed, falling into Cadet First Class Paris’s outstretched arms.

“Dad told me,” Tom responded, looking around wildly as he patted her back.

He’d expected this. _Herra_ had been recalled so Lt. Janeway could attend her father’s funeral. They’d transported her directly to Starfleet HQ and Admiral Owen Paris broke the news, personally. The man had been astounded when his protégé declined his assistance but requested the whereabouts of his son before almost running out of his office.

Tom needed to get Kathryn somewhere private and fast, before she completely broke down. He knew how she felt because Tom Paris looked up to Admiral Janeway almost as much as his daughter. The only place he considered secluded was his room on campus. It would be in direct violation of almost every Starfleet regulation, not that Cadet Paris cared at this point in time. The woman in his arm was too important to him, her emotional wellbeing paramount.

“Come on,” he led Kate away, cradling her tear stained face against his uniform in order to protect her reputation.

They were an odd sight, a Lieutenant and Cadet in an intimate clinch, hurrying across campus. In the last three and a half years, they’d managed to be in the same place on half a dozen occasions and only because Tom carefully planned the meetings to appear fortuitous. Each time started the same way, with Kate trying to dismiss the sexual tension between them, then ignoring her own needs before finally, ending up in bed with Tom.

Prior to their first encounter, Kathryn found out about Susie Crabtree from Lt. Stephanie Paris. She hoped it meant Tom had abandoned any thoughts of her in a romantic sense. Cadet Paris relieved Kathryn of that opinion on her first leave after a year on _Sutherland_. He’d casually informed Lt. Janeway how the liaison ended as they exercised the ageing horses on her parent’s farm.

“I don’t think any woman is pleased,” Tom smirked irrepressibly, “when you call out Kate at an intimate moment. Susie knew about you, right from the start. I was very honest about my intentions toward her, that they were purely physical.”

The second time, Cadet Third Class Paris accompanied his mentor, Admiral Janeway, on a tour between semesters. The older man ensured his path intersected with his daughter’s ship for a three-day furlough. He also left the two of them alone overnight when called away for an urgent matter, giving his taciturn support for their fledgling relationship. It had been Admiral Paris that provided the location and means for their third encounter. Owen had been so shocked by his son’s docility and compliance, he’d not bothered to question Thomas’s motivation for accompanying him.

Kathryn Janeway had been transferred to the science vessel _Herra_ at the end of Tom’s second Academy year _._ They’d spent a fortnight between her postings together. Then Justin came between them. Admiral Janeway dropped the fact Lt. Tighe proposed to Kathryn but she had yet to accept. Tom used his only weekend pass for the semester, organised transport and turned up at her quarters unannounced, using a message from Admiral Janeway as an excuse. Cadet Second Class Paris was never sure if Admiral Janeway paved his way or knew his daughter needed a swift dose of reality before she married a man she didn’t love. Either way, Tom had sixteen hours to convince her to decline Lt. Tighe’s offer.

“Have you given Justin your answer?” the young man demanded the moment Lt. Janeway answered her door. He didn’t care who heard, Tom had just been grateful Kathryn had been in her quarters.

“Not yet,” Kathryn stated shocked that Tom made the effort to confront her in person. She’d been careful in their weekly communication to avoid mentioning Justin or the length of their relationship.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in,” Tom demanded, “so we can discuss this?”

“You need to return to the Academy, Cadet,” she hissed, embarrassed at the spectacle he was creating. “This is none of your concern.”

“Like hell it’s not,” he stated, barging past her. Cadet Paris was not going to have such an important discussion in a public hallway. “And my name is Tom. You call it every time we’ve made love. I never expected or wanted you to live like a Tabern monk, Kate. You know I haven’t. Convincing yourself you’re in love with someone else, I never believed you capable of deluding yourself to this extent.”

Lt. Tighe walked in at one of those inappropriate moments which explained, in vivid detail, why Lt. Kathryn Janeway had delayed providing him with an answer. He didn’t make a scene, as much as he’d wanted to. Justin picked up the pieces of his shattered heart and left. Now he knew what Admiral Janeway meant when he’d said sorrowfully with a shake of his head, “I wish you the best of luck, son,” the day he’d asked the man for his daughter’s hand. Finally, when Kathryn declined his offer of marriage the following day, Justin smiled and shook his head. “I should have known it was another Admiral’s son, but Tom Paris. Kathryn, he’s ten years your junior and you’ll never be able to serve on the same ship.”

“You think I don’t know that,” she responded acidly. As much as she hated the look that said _you’ve been using me_ in Justin’s eyes, he’d been the deluded one. From the beginning, Lt. Janeway insisted their relationship could only be physical. It didn’t stop the guilt, knowing she should have stopped Lt. Tighe’s hopes before they started.

This time, Tom knew, the game had changed completely. She needed him and he had every intention of being there for her. “I’m taking you to my room and you can tell me all about it.”

“It was so sudden,” she looked down at him seated on the couch. If Kathryn Janeway’s mind had been functional, she’d have realised Tom Paris never sat still unless he was concentrating or at the controls of a ship. Pivoting in the tiny quarters, the Lieutenant took three steps in the opposite direction before coming to a halt against the wall. “I only spoke to Dad the day before yesterday. Then we get orders to return to Earth and everyone on board is asking why. I’m the second officer and they never told me.”

“Kate,” Tom finally stood. Approaching slowly, he placed a hand on each of her tense shoulders. “You would have done the same, in the Captain’s place.”

Turning, she suddenly stopped and looked at him. No longer the gangly boy, Tom Paris had grown taller and filled out. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, he was a man. A man she needed to hold her, comfort her, to help her understand how her father, a man in his prime, in this day and age, could drop dead of a heart attack without warning. Tom’s bright blue eyes were clouded with sorrow, for her and the situation she found herself in. All he wanted to do was sooth away her hurt. In that moment she knew his heart was hers, it always had been.

“Dad was supposed to be here,” the tears suddenly came in a torrent, “to walk me down the aisle, to give me away.”

“He will be,” Tom pulled her into a tight embrace, laying a light kiss on the crown of her head, “in spirit. Kate, I feel your loss. Your dad, he was more of a father to me than my own. I’m going to miss him, I already do.”

“Come with me,” she pleaded, “to Indiana, until the funeral.”

“I’ll try,” he offered without much hope.

Even Tom Paris, with the backing of his father’s position couldn’t cut through that much protocol in a single afternoon. He was already on report for missing several classes. He’d take whatever punishment they doled out. Officially, there was no relationship between Lt. Kathryn Janeway and Cadet Thomas Paris, so there was no reason to approve emergency leave from the Academy. Still, he braved expulsion, accompanying the woman he considered his fiancée to her family home and spent the night.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Kate’s ear the next morning. The alarm had gone off a few minutes ago and Tom needed to be back on campus before anyone missed him. He had enough time to shower and replicate a new uniform before hightailing it to the transport station.

“Go,” Kathryn responded her throat dry and voice grave. “Mom, Phoebe and I will be in San Francisco Friday for the funeral. Your Mom has invited us to stay for the weekend.”

“I’ll use one of my passes,” Tom kissed her quickly before reluctantly rising from her bed. “Kate, we’ll come back here. Your Mom needs you and this is the only place you’ll want to be.”

“I need you,” she whispered at his retreating backside, “right now.”

Tom Paris looked back so many times; tempted to throw away his career and stay. Kathryn, more disciplined and use to ridged protocol, waved her hand to indicate he needed to leave if he was going to get back to San Francisco and the Academy on time. It didn’t elevate the emotions clouding both their hearts, just made them harder to face alone.

Tom called the next day, spending hours listening to Kathryn as she worked through her loss. He couldn’t concentrate on his lessons, a fact noticed by both his friends and lecturers. The weekend pass had initially been denied, until both Gretchen Janeway and Róisín Paris hounded Owen to pull whatever strings were required. Finally, understanding the bond between his son and protégé, Admiral Paris paved the way for Tom to take the day of Admiral Janeway’s funeral off before spending the rest of the weekend in Indiana.

At the service, Tom Paris entered and sat with the Janeway family. He refused to be moved from Kathryn’s side. Holding her hand while both attired in formal dress uniform, their bond could no longer be hidden. Officially, Cadet Thomas Eugene Paris was engaged to Lt. Kathryn Janeway, their marriage planned to coincide with the end of Lt. Janeway’s enforced leave and Cadet Paris’s graduation.

“He’s too young to be getting married,” Owen bellowed when he uncovered the extent of their relationship a month later. “How can Thomas know his heart? He’s not even completed his studies at the Academy. I thought Kathryn had more sense than to get involved with, with such a, a playboy. He has no idea what that girls been through!”

“That will be enough, Owen Paris,” Gretchen Janeway stated in a decidedly icy tone. “Your son’s known about Kathryn’s abduction and assault for years. Reading the official report, I believe, was the catalyst for his feelings turning from boyhood fancy to something more complicated. Edward wondered why you accessed the report from your home terminal. He’d set up some kind of warning signal to inform him if our daughter’s privacy was ever compromised. A year later, Tom turns up with Kathryn and tells us he’s going to marry her when he’s done with the Academy. Edward offered to walk her down the aisle if he could get her to agree, especially after what she suffered at those Cardassian’s hands. Even three years ago they were obviously sleeping together.”

Stunned, Admiral Owen Paris didn’t put up any more of a fight. The day his son turned twenty-one, the legal age of adulthood in the Federation, Tom waited for his bride inside an archaic church and Lt. Commander Kathryn Janeway married Ensign Thomas Paris. In direct opposition to her mentor’s suggestion, she chose a posting on the first of the Olympic Class science vessels of the same name. On the way to their ship, Kathryn as the First Officer and Tom in the transport division, they enjoyed a short honeymoon.

“Why,” Kathryn asked her new husband as they settled into their temporary quarters on the transport frigate, “didn’t you tell your father about being recruited into Intelligence? It would have saved you that lecture before we left Earth’s orbit.”

“And miss the fireworks when he thinks I’ve completely corrupted his protégé,” Tom sniggered. Watching his wife’s dissatisfied expression, he sobered, marginally. “Not likely. Come on, you know the relationship I have with my father. It serves him right, thinking I’m in your direct chain of command. He should know you better. Starfleet would never allow it, even if we are both the children of prominent Admirals.”

“Officially,” Kathryn frowned, “transport on this class of ship is under the direction of the Chief Medical Officer. You’ll be reporting to Commander Bryce.”

“I’m never going to be under your direct command,” Tom stated.

“I’m your wife, Tom,” Kathryn reminded, “unofficially you’re **_always_** going to be under my command.”

“Then, you won’t mind changing your name to Lt. Commander Paris,” Tom mocked, but there was a wariness in his gaze. His blue eyes clouded slightly, demonstrating just how important the issue was to him.

Sighing, Kathryn Janeway lent over, extracting a PADD from the top of his bedside cabinet. Handing it to the man, she waited for his whoop of joy. “Don’t say I don’t know you, Mr. Paris.” Pausing to let that sink in, she added with a smile, “besides, my mother would kill me, if I didn’t take my husband’s name.”


	4. Intermission

“Tom,” Kathryn lay spooned in her husband of four years arms. Taking his hand, which had been resting just under her breast, she placed it on her flat belly.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Tom was immediately woken from his pleasant lethargy. Apart for the last six weeks, their reunion had been explosive, then sweet, then time consuming. They hadn’t spoken a word, but that didn’t matter. They’d needed to reconnect on a deeper, more intimate level.

“I was pregnant,” she managed sorrowfully.

"Was?" came the question in a sobering tone.

“I walked into engineering at the wrong moment,” Kathryn confessed with a shrug. “The warp core was leaking plasma. I didn’t know until the doctor told me I’d lost the baby. He was seven weeks. I hadn’t gotten any symptoms. I’ve waited until you came back to tell you. It wasn’t something I wanted to say over the comm.”

"I'm not going on a deep cover assignment again," Lt. Paris declared, overreacting as Kathryn expected. Rolling his wife onto her back so he could see her expression, his concern was palatable.

“Tom, you have to believe me when I say, I’m fine with this,” Kathryn offered and her grey eyes told him she was. They also asked about his feelings, which were focused solely on his wife’s emotions without regard for his own. “It’s not like we planned it.”

“If you try telling me you don’t know how it happened!” Tom exclaimed, attempting levity while he sorted through his own emotions.

Rolling her eyes, Kathryn knew they’d get over this. “Of course, I know _how_ it happened, just not **_how_** it happened. We’ve both been on boosters for years.”

“Even in this day and age, they fail,” Tom shrugged. Grinning like a naughty child about to be chastised, he stated, “besides, I might have forgotten to get an update in the rush to go on my last mission.”

Sighing, Lt. Commander Kathryn Paris used a tone filled with irony, “it does lead to the question, when are we going to consider having a family. I’m not getting any younger and you obviously want children.” Under her breath, Kathryn Paris muttered, “forgot my foot.”

Snorting, Tom declared, “my old lady. You’re only thirty-three, Kate. We have time, unless you want to try again in the next few months.”

"I'm not sure," she stated, watching him observe her every expression. "I've been offered a promotion. Full Commander and first officer."

"I can't come with you," Tom knew that look, "can I?"

“Not this time,” Kathryn sighed, turning into a consummate officer. “There’s just no way for you in any capacity but Chief Con officer any more, Lt. Paris, if Intelligence lets you go. That role will be under my jurisdiction.”

“Security?" he offered, hopefully.

"Mine," she responded prosaically.

“Tactical,” Tom tried with an almost whine in his tone.

“Same,” Kathryn stated acidly. “Before you ask, no, intelligence is not an option on _Billings_. She has a crew compliment of seventy-two Starfleet personnel. She’s designed for scientific research and most of the staff will be constantly changing civilians or academics on short term contracts. You just don’t fit the criteria.”

“Explains you though,” Tom returned in a similar tone. “They want a First Officer that can also lead the away teams and understand the science. It’s perfect for you and gets you into the command stream, which is where you always wanted to be. I sense the Admiral’s hand in this. But,” in one of his lightning fast changes of mood Lt. Paris became completely serious, “I don’t want to be that far away from you, if we decide to expand our family.”

“Then it will have to be a station or planet side,” Kathryn added sourly. That wasn’t in her plans, or Tom’s. “I’m not raising a child on a starship anywhere near the Federation boarders, especially those that are in dispute. There is an opening for the both of us, with a chance at promotion on Caldik Prime.”

“We have time, Kate,” Tom reminded, not liking the sound of something so benign for either of them. “Take the posting on _Billings_ , I know it’s what you really want. I’ll start looking for another assignment that’ll keep me near you and at the helm. We’ll revisit this next year or the one after, when your tours up.”

"I love you," Kathryn stated suddenly.

Smiling down at her, Tom softly moved her hair so he could access her neck. "I know," he responded. As usual, he couldn't be goaded into telling his wife how much he cared, he showed her. Like everything Lt. Paris did, it was at his own time and pace.

"I love you," Tom used the words without a second thought. It had taken nearly eight years of marriage for his wife to teach him to utter that sentence without feeling self-conscious. Unfortunately, he'd also learnt to apply it to situations where he wanted his own way.

Looking at him curiously through the screen, Commander Kathryn Paris asked, "what have you done, what are you about to do or what do you want. I'm busy, really busy at the moment, Tom."

Both knew _Billings_ had been, unofficially, under Kathryn’s command for more than two years, since the incident that killed Captain Zorda and injured a crew member and a civilian scientist. Starfleet never replaced the officer, handing complete authority to Commander Paris on a temporary basis. Headquarters managed to lose or ignore addressing the multiple requests for a more permanent solution, which both annoyed and pleased Kathryn. In the mean-time, Tom had taken any and every posting that kept him in the same region of space as his wife, understanding their situation occurred because of his father.

“Too busy to speak to your husband?” he complained with that kicked puppy look which always managed to elicited a response. “It’s been almost two months since I’ve seen you, Kate and now I’m bothering you.”

"Hey. You never bother me, except the way I love to be bothered. Understand?" she sighed, laying the PADD on her desk. Crew rosters could wait for the few minutes it would take to calm her rapidly beating heart and please her husband.

"Now that I have your full and undivided attention," Tom smirked happily, "ever heard of the Intrepid Class," he dangled the carrot.

“Bionerual circuitry, state of the art propulsion,” she managed to keep the excitement out of her tone while wondering where this was going. “I’ve seen the initial plans. Goes into production within a couple of months.”

“They need someone to head up the construction and commissioning, then take her out on her test flights,” Lt. Commander Paris continued to smirk as he noticed his wife’s eyes light up. “I thought you’d jump at the chance, especially,” he paused, “when I’ve been offered a promotion to full Commander.”

"What's the job?" Kathryn asked, suddenly understanding their time apart might finally be coming to an end.

"Jupiter station, programming holodecks for test pilots in the Intelligence stream," finally the man couldn't hold back his Cheshire like grin. "We'd have married quarters and the ability to extend our family, especially as you'd be based at Utopia Planitia."

“No more clandestine missions,” Kathryn asked stoically. It had been the reason they’d continued to put off the idea of children. In order for Tom to stay in this region of the galaxy, he was at the beck and call of the Intelligence division. His missions were highly classified and downright dangerous.

Becoming serious, Tom Paris stated, “there’s always a chance they’ll try and rope me back into the field Kate, you know that. I’ve got too much experience to let go entirely. A wife and kids,” his humour returned suddenly, “now that’s a reason I could use to decline any offers, or take a position as a civilian consultant.”

“I’ll put my name forward for the Intrepid Class,” Kate stated. Even if she got the ship after the launch, they might just be able to really give expanding their family a try.

"I already did," Tom smiled, "all you need to do is call Dad and confirm your interest."

Sighing, Kathryn knew what that meant. Once again Róisín Paris and Gretchen Janeway were desperate for grandchildren. Even Admiral Paris couldn’t hold out against such overwhelming resolve. After eight years of marriage, two early miscarriages, her ageing body, and a silently hopeful but insistent husband, it looked as if dirty dippers would be in her future.

"Tom," a serious note entered her tone, "I'm not going to give the pregnancy thing a chance until I launch that ship and take her on her first flight."

"I can live with that," his insufferably childish nature reasserted itself. "But I want you off boosters and on prenatal vitamins when she launches. Oh, and I want to sleep in my wife's bed tonight. I'm in a shuttle off your port bow. Permission to come aboard, Ma'am."

Rolling her eyes, there was no way she could deny him, or herself. Two months was about as long as they could go without reconnecting. "Permission granted, Lt. Commander, but don't make a habit of this. The Captain might not always be so understanding."

"I'm counting on it," his eyes suddenly became smoky with desire. "Kate, I'll meet you in your quarters in five. Don't be late."

Shuddering, she knew better than to disobey her husband, or her body, in that mood. Tapping her com badge Commander Paris called her First Officer into her ready room. "Tom," was all she needed to say to Lt. Tuvok before taking the turbolift down one deck. No one would disturb her for the next twelve hours, even if there was a warp core breach.


	5. Voyager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not wish to cause pain to anyone who has suffered abuse. Please note, mention is made of assault at the hands of the Cardassian's in this chapter, to both Kathryn and Owen. It is an essential element in the plot and will re-occur in the future. However, I've attempted to treat the topic with dignity and respect, as much as is possible.

“She’s amazing,” Kathryn Paris watched as the shuttle flew around the skeleton of her ship, “and for the next year, she’s mine.”

“What I wouldn’t give,” Tom looked up from his console with a long whistle, “to be back at the helm. All I get to do these days is write the holoprograms for the pilots. I really miss flying more than a class two shuttle.”

“I’m not sure the Captain could resist your boyish good looks and charm, Mr. Paris,” Kathryn mocked easily, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze. She knew Tom loved to fly and his current assignment had been accepted on the basis of being stationed together and safe rather than his wants and needs. In the months they’d been at Utopia Planitia, Commander Paris had already become bored with his current posting.

“I’m not sure I’d want her to try,” he returned with a wicked grin. “Besides, I’m told I grow on some people.”

“Like a rash,” his wife shot back with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve asked for Tuvok as my First Officer. It’s time that man finally got a promotion. The incident when he dressed me down in front of Admiral Paris still haunts me.”

“I remember,” Tom’s grin increased, “you comm’ed me from _Herra,_ infuriated. The Poor Vulcan didn’t know you were only a few weeks from becoming his daughter-in-law. I’m sure he was embarrassed, although Tuvok would never admit to it.”

Laughing, Kathryn added, “we’ve been friends since and I couldn’t have managed on _Billings_ without him.”

“I can’t believe you actually got her, Kate,” Tom shook his head, changing his mood suddenly. They were both on a rare day off, together, and had decided to take one of Utopia Planitia’s shuttles to look over her new command. “The competition for _Voyager_ was fierce.”

“Pays to be the unofficial Captain of a Science vessel for years,” she shrugged her shoulders. “I think the Admiral did us a favour, Tom. I only got _Voyager_ because I proved myself on _Billings_. But this ship, she’s in a class of her own.”

“Have you told anyone about our future plans?” her husband asked, careful with his tone. They hadn’t talked about expanding their family in months. It had been a rush after they’d received new orders within days of each other. Finishing up their postings, handing over their workload to new personnel and finally, getting a well-deserved two-week shore leave before arriving at Jupiter Station to take up their new assignments.

“Not yet. It’s going to be at least twelve months before I’m finished this project. I thought we could wait until there’s something to say,” Kathryn stated tonelessly, watching her ship outside the view screen.

“Your call,” Tom knew this was one subject he was never going to win. Kate would do what she needed first.

The months passed quickly. Both Captain and Commander Paris found their new projects taking up more and more time. Sleep became a luxury as deadlines loomed. _Voyager_ seemed to grow every day as the exterior was complete and construction of the internals commenced. Captain Paris commuted between Jupiter and Earth regularly as the project reached its final stages. She managed to get Tom released to act as her pilot on occasion, but, Kathryn soon learnt, there was a price to pay.

“We’re putting in the bionural circuitry and gel packs tomorrow,” Kathryn stated, standing at the mirror of their bathroom and brushing her teeth.

Coming up behind his wife, watching her reflection in the mirror, Tom kissed the top of her head absent mindedly. Being so much taller, they could watch each other with ease. Recently, he had been more distant and his eyes clouded with worry. Even their lovemaking had been reserved, almost detached, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Taking the brush from her mouth, Kathryn washed it and placed it back on the shelf. Turning into her husband, she placed her arms around his waist. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Tom.”

“I’ve been approached to go on a deep cover mission,” he stated, yet the coldness in his tone spelt trouble. Kathryn learnt, in this mood, it was best to just hang on and let him take his time. “It’s in the DMZ, proving the Cardassian’s aren’t abiding by the treaty. I’d have to infiltrate the Maquis to do it.”

“No,” the word came out like a plea. It might have been years in her past, but the memories of her ordeal never faded completely. There were still nights she dreamt about her experiences, nights when Tom would just hold her, knowing where her mind went. Looking up at him now, her eyes pleaded as her voice never could.

“Unless I have them unseal your records,” Tom didn’t hesitate, even if his voice betrayed his abject sorrow at bringing up this subject, “I don’t have a valid reason not to go. This is too important to me.”

“I don’t want you to do this,” Kathryn implored.

“I don’t want those animals to do to another woman what they did to you, Kate,” he pleaded. “I don’t want another child to go through what I did, because of the mental damage they did to their parent. This is greater than you or me.”

“How long,” she asked, understanding he’d made his mind up.

“Six months,” Tom answered tonelessly, “at least. By then you’d be finished with _Voyager_ and she’d be ready to hand over to the permanent Captain. I think I’ll be done with Starfleet after this mission. I don’t want this darkness in our lives any longer. It’s time for some uncomplicated happiness.”

“Ready to take after your brother-in-law,” Kathryn tried for amusement. It fell flat. Captain Stephanie Paris and her non-Starfleet, non-joined Trill husband now had four children. They’d made their home on a Starbase close to Jaboban’s home planet.

“Don’t tease me, Kate. I’ve been ready for a couple of years now,” Tom’s voice didn’t change. “If it means becoming the stay-at-home parent, my price is a generational ship we can be on as a family. I won’t stand in the way of your scientific mind, and I know you want to continue in command, but I want a safe posting.”

“Will it be enough for you?” she questioned.

“Probably not,” he finally smiled, it was melancholy, “but I have my holoprograming to fall back on. I’ll have all the time I need to write while you’re at work.”

“When do you go,” Kathryn asked, already making mental plans. Her compliance had been implied with a nod of her head.

“I need to give them my answer tomorrow. Training will start in San Francisco next month. I’ll ship out a few weeks later,” Tom recited as if reading the information off a PADD. Pulling away from his wife’s embrace, Commander Paris’s blue eyes became a stormy grey as emotion and regret filled them. “You have to be prepared, Kate,” he stated softly, mournfully. “The reality is, I might not come home from this one.”

“You will,” she whispered, more to convince herself, “you always have before.”

Tom Paris managed to get leave the weekend before leaving on a decrepit freighter headed for the DMZ as part of his cover story. They spent ninety percent of their time in bed. Commander Paris hadn’t been gone a month when Kathryn felt the changes within her body. Afraid, Captain Paris visited Starfleet medical to have her suspicions confirmed. A week later, terrified she’d lose this child as she had the others with a stressful career, and never have another opportunity if her husband didn’t return, she departed for Earth and a small procedure, ensuring her child would survive. Next came the legal appointments to protect their offspring, no matter what happened to its parents.

Then, it was time to launch _Voyager_. The shake down cruses took weeks and were confined to the immediate space surrounding the Solar system. Each night Captain Paris fell into bed exhausted, but not before checking her personal comm channel. Not once in the five very long months since Tom left for his mission had his unique signal been waiting. Admiral Paris, with his contacts in Intelligence, had been unable to uncover if her husband was still alive. However, his enquiries finally made Owen realise the man his son had become when he read the young Commander’s service record.

“Kathryn,” Admiral Paris’s face appeared on the monitor in her ready room as his daughter-in-law finished up the last of _Voyager’s_ test runs. “I have new orders for you. Fleet Admiral Nechayev wants you in her office at twelve hundred tomorrow. You’re to proceed directly to spacedoc. My wife demanded you to stay with us tonight.”

“I understand, Sir,” Kathryn offered while watching her father-in-law’s body language carefully.

Before she could ask, Owen Paris shook his head. “If I hear anything,” he stated, “you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you, Owen,” she signed off.

The next day, flanked by Admiral Paris, Kathryn was invited to take a seat at the conference table in Admiral Nechayev’s inner sanctum. Behind the floor to ceiling window sat the Golden Gate bridge as a shining monument to human determination and tenacity. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, yet Captain Kathryn Paris felt fingers of dread reach out and cruelly encircle her heart. There weren’t many reasons for calling two high ranking and active members of Starfleet command into such a meeting. She fully expected to hear unpleasant and distressing news, as she had all those years ago when her father had passed.

“Admiral Paris, Captain Paris,” Admiral Nechayev kept her tone neutral as she took her place at the head of the table. Beside the grey-haired woman, a gentleman in Intelligence black slid into a chair. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”

“Is my husband dead?” Kathryn managed to keep her outward composure while her grey eyes board into her superiors. She had to know.

“No,” the Intelligence operative took over, “but we suspect Commander Paris’s mission has been compromised with the Maquis leadership. Your husband is currently serving as first officer on _Val Jean_ under a former Starfleet officer named Chakotay. All indications are Chakotay remains unaware of Commander Paris’s true affiliations. We need to extract him for debrief.” The words _before his duplicity is uncovered_ remained unspoken.

“To that end,” Admiral Nechayev took up the monologue, “I have appointed you permanent Captain of _Voyager_ , Kathryn. Your first mission is to enter the DMZ and bring our operative home.”

“I understand,” Captain Paris answered gravely. Internally, her heart rate slowed and she could feel the adrenalin surge starting to wear off. “When is _Voyager_ to leave Spacedoc?”

“You ship has been resupplied overnight. Lt. Commander Cavit will be your new first officer,” the Intelligence operative stated easily.

“I have requested Lt. Tuvok,” Kathryn responded, her tone respectful yet demanding.

“Mr. Tuvok will be your tactical and security officer. You have your orders, Captain,” Nechayev dismissed, ending the meeting.

Unable to sit, Kathryn paced the mid bridge as _Voyager_ made her way to Deep Space Nine. She’d made this space her own on the trials. Now her ship had been deemed space worthy and cleared for active duty, Captain Paris refused to rest until Tom was back with her. Once they’d retrieved him, they had a lot to talk about and she intended to use the month-long return journey to Earth wisely.

“Take her out, Lt. Stadi,” the Captain ordered, her heart hammering with possibilities.

“Aye, Captain,” the Betazoid nodded, her fingers working the panel before her. She felt her commanding officer’s mixed emotions. For a first mission, chasing a Maquis raider into the DMZ was dangerous, especially in an untried state of the art vessel with a relatively inexperienced Captain and crew.

In the distance, Deep Space Nine receaded and _Voyager_ leapt into the unknown. Six days later, on the last known heading of the _Val Jean_ , they picked up a faint warp core signature that wasn’t Federation or Cardassian. They lost it in the plasma storms of the Badlands, and without anyone who knew the region intimately, Captain Paris and Lt. Tuvok theorised the route the small raider would have taken, hypothesising towards the Terikof Belt. Neither wanted to voice their concerns, that the ship may have been destroyed with all hands lost.

That’s when the displacement wave struck. No matter what they tried, Voyager was swept up and carried across the galaxy into the Delta quadrant. When she came to, Captain Paris noticed the devastation on her bridge. Only once she’d taken stock, discovering that both Lt. Commander Cavit and Lt. Stadi had been killed did she call for a report from her straight out of the Academy Operations Ensign.

“Captain, if these sensors are working, we're over seventy thousand light years from where we were. We're on the other side of the galaxy,” Mr. Kim’s astonishment was palatable in his tone. “I’m not reading any life signs on the Maquis ship in stationary orbit five hundred kilometres away on the other side of the array.”

“Which ship, Ensign,” Captain Paris devoted a tiny corner of her mind to hope. If it were Tom’s ship, at least they might be trapped in the Delta quadrant together when they located the crew. If it wasn’t, Commander Paris was still alive and fulfilling his mission with another Maquis ship and Intelligence wanted their operative back. Either way, her husband couldn’t be her first priority right now. Kathryn Paris had one hundred and forty souls under her care and the task of getting them safely home.

“ _Val Jean_ , Ma’am,” Harry stated.

Three days later the Caretaker returned the crews of _Voyager_ and _Val Jean,_ Chakotay hailed the Federation ship. Watching the man intently, Kathryn did not allow her attention to deviate from the Maquis leaders face. It wasn’t until his team beamed onto her bridge that she knew her husband survived his mission and her heart filled with joy. However, Captain Kathryn Paris didn’t allow her emotions to show, maintaining her facade of calm authority. They had both known this day might come, when their professional paths would cross and one of them would have direct command over the other.


	6. Caretaker II

The whine of the transporter caught Captain Kathryn Paris by surprise. The away team had been gone a little over a quarter of an hour. Not enough time, in her opinion, to complete their mission. Sitting in her command chair, outwardly composed into the facade of a consummate Starfleet Officer, internally the woman allowed her heart to leap for joy and her mind to rejoice. Her husband was alive but she couldn’t devote the entirety of her attention to the fact. Seventy thousand light years from home, they couldn’t be together until she found a solution to _Voyager’s_ current predicament.

 _I’ll get this crew home_ , Captain Paris silently promised, looking at the very young faces surrounding her. _Until then, I have to use my husband’s skills as a Starfleet Officer. Somehow, we have to separate our personal and professional lives until this journey is over. We achieved a working relationship on Olympia for four years, but I wasn’t Tom’s direct superior. He’s my highest-ranking officer and my husband, so I can’t ask him to take the XO’s post and yet I will be forced to make the offer in accordance with Starfleet protocol. I always wanted Tuvok and I know the Commander in Tom will understand. Which leaves Tom with a background as an Intelligence officer filling what role in my crew?_

Turning and standing to watch the white light form into the shape of four men, Kathryn observed them carefully. One look at the expression on Tom’s face, she ordered Commander Paris and Lt. Tuvok into her ready room. Her husband’s eyes darting towards Chakotay made her include the Maquis Captain in the party. It seemed Tom’s experience, both with the Maquis and on his clandestine missions might just prove to be of some use after all.

“Report,” the Captain demanded, her focus narrowing to Tuvok. The Vulcan missed nothing and long association led Kathryn to trust his astute and accurate observations.

“Ensign Kim and Ms. Torres are no longer on the array. I believe the entity,” the tactical officer reported succinctly, “has transported them to the fifth planet of the nearby star system. The energy pulses focused in that direction are capable of obscuring the transmission.”

“Come on, Tuvok,” Tom looked annoyed as he paced around the small room. Part of his Intelligence training included memorising information and not only regurgitating it, but analysing the data within a limited context. “That mad old man said, ‘you don't have what I need. They might. No, you'll have to leave them.’ Pretty self-explanatory, don’t you think?”

“How so Commander?” Tuvok asked, as if Tom Paris was being illogical. They had known each other for ten years, introduced through their mutual acquaintance with the Captain. “I do not see how you come to any conclusion with limited information.”

Watching in fascination, the Captain in Kathryn Paris needed to observe the dynamics between her two most highly ranked officers. Tuvok and Tom had not spent time together in more than cursory social situations. Should the journey home prove difficult, one would continue to be her professional council, the other her emotional sounding board. Tom Paris and Tuvok needed to work together, the Captain’s sanity might just hinge on it.

“Biometric testing,” Tom allowed one finger to rise while addressing each person in the room. “To what end, we don’t know. However, Kim and Torres alone appear to have what the entity needs,” up came a second. “Remainder of both crews returned to their vessels but not to their previous destination,” a third finger appeared. “Obviously we’re not required and sending us home is ‘terribly complicated’ because the entity doesn’t have time,” made his fourth point. “Which begs the question, time for what?”

“Look,” Tom sounded slightly peeved when the three people in the room merely stared at him as if he wasn’t making sense, “whatever that being represents, for some reason Ensign Kim and B’Elanna Torres meet his parameters and it has everything to do with the fifth planet of the system. He’s sending energy pulses for some reason, which leads me to theorise that a civilisation of some kind exists there and is probably where Kim and Torres are being confined. Finally, the entity searched the galaxy with methods ‘beyond our comprehension’ to ‘honour a debt that can never be repaid’. The answer to getting home lays at the end of those emissions and who ever lives there.”

“I agree,” Chakotay stated. The words came out as hard as the look he arrowed towards Paris. He had yet to forgive the man for infiltrating his organisation and betraying him personally. However, he’d proved his worth against the Cardassian’s on multiple occasions and his piloting skills were well above average. Only now did Chakotay understand the reason why Paris had been so good as his first officer. “I want Torres back. As soon as I’m on my ship, I’ll be setting a course to that star system.”

Allowing a smile to turn up the corners of her lips, Kathryn Paris’s attention focused on the Maquis leader. She knew neither ship had the capacity to travel beyond a quarter impulse until major repairs from the displacement wave were completed. It would take them months to reach the star system at their current top speed.

“I’ve read your Starfleet file, Mr. Chakotay,” Captain Paris announced easily. “You had quite a career, including teaching advanced tactics at the Academy for almost a decade. What would your training say about a single small raider mounting a rescue mission under the present circumstance?”

“Two ships stand a better chance if they work in unity,” he responded quickly and easily. However, his chocolate brown eyes watched the woman warily.

“Then may I suggest we call a truce, combine resources and get our people home, together,” she offered, holding out a hand.

Taking the offered limb, Chakotay observed his counterpart for a few moments. She was typical of all Starfleet officers, but he had to wonder how her husband’s presence on board, and the fact his ex-first officer turned out to be an Intelligence operative, would change the playing field. He’d never underestimate Tom Paris again, and it seemed his wife was just as astute.

“Then we find a way home, to the Alpha quadrant,” Captain Paris added easily, dropping the man’s hand. “My mission has nothing to do with you or your vessel, Mr. Chakotay. You’ll be free to go on your way.”

Understanding, a sarcastic smirk covered the Maquis leader’s face. _Voyager_ had been sent after him to retrieve their operative. When they returned to the Badlands, it appeared Captain Kathryn Paris would look the other way as she ordered her conn officer to set a course for Earth.

“Then I suggest we get started,” Chakotay responded, unable to keep the snide tone from his voice. “However, you can keep expelled cadet Nick Locarno, or should I say Commander Paris.”

“Chakotay,” Tom’s expression exposed his regret, “I’d like to ensure B’Elanna gets back to _Val Jean_ just as much as you. She’s one of the best engineers I’ve ever met. You’re going to need her.”

The assessing glare sent back by the Maquis Captain forced a shiver down Kathryn’s spine. Tom held Chakotay’s determined stare with something softer and less definable. It appeared the two men were locked in a silent battle with neither willing to give in.

“You know, Paris, I almost believe you,” Chakotay suddenly grinned scornfully. “I hope you have fun explaining your last six months on my ship to your wife. Then again, Nick Locarno wasn’t the type of philanderer that could have kept one.”

“Mr. Tuvok,” the Captain ordered, angered by the parting shot but attempting to mask her reaction, “would you ensure Mr. Chakotay and his crew-member are returned to their ship.”

“Aye, Captain,” the Vulcan’s expression didn’t change as he escorted the Maquis out the door. His dark eyes flashed a warning to his long-time friend and current Captain. While Tuvok had met Commander Paris on several social occasions, much of his information disseminated from Kathryn’s descriptions of her personal life.

“My first officer, Lt. Commander Cavit was killed in the initial displacement wave,” Kathryn stated as the door closed behind Tuvok. Watching Tom as he stood stock still in the middle of her ready room, the silence lingered, threatening to turn far too intimate for the discussion they needed to establish their working relationship. Her legs finally turning weak as Tom lifted his head and narrowed his azure gaze on her, Kathryn leant against her desk to support her weight. Allowing only her eyes to rake over the man, Captain Paris remained in charge of her faculties, even if Mrs. Paris wanted to take her husband in her arms and never let go.

“Aaron Cavit?” Tom questioned, taking a step closer. “Appointed by Intelligence, no doubt.”

Nodding, her mouth dry, Kathryn finally found the strength to continue her train of thought. “I need to replace him, temporarily.”

“Tuvok,” Tom decreed easily, taking another predatory step towards his wife. “You’ve always said it’s time he received a promotion. Give the Vulcan a field commission and be done with it. Under the circumstances, Starfleet will uphold your decision.”

“Commander,” Kathryn warned, watching his mood change instantly at her rebuke.

“Yes, Captain,” his tone had become gravelly and laced with disappointment as he took her meaning and corrected his behaviour.

“You’re saying you won’t do it,” Kathryn asked, slightly amused and slightly concerned. As the Captain, her options were limited without another Starfleet ship or facility nearby.

“You know I can’t,” Tom’s expression not at all disappointed, “and you know the real reason why.”

“Our personal relationship withstanding,” the imposing Captain emerged, “you’re the highest-ranking officer with command experience. I’d be unwise not to consider you, especially in our current circumstances, and the appointment would only last until we returned to the Alpha quadrant.”

“I don’t want it,” Commander Tom Paris responded, equally as determined, “I never did. This assignment was supposed to be my last, before resigning my commission entirely.”

“You know these Maquis, Tom, what they’re going to do next,” the strategist in the Captain emerged. “I need that information beside me on the bridge if they break our armistice or interfere in finding a way back to the Alpha quadrant.”

“Chakotay’s annoyed,” a smile covered the operative’s lips and delight lit his blue eyes. “The man’s a good Captain, even if he’s far too trusting, which is kind of amazing in his position. It wasn’t that hard to infiltrate his crew and that’s what has got his attention, that he let a Starfleet Intelligence officer not only pilot his ship, but become his trusted first officer. He’s taking this personally. As far as battle tactics go, you couldn’t get someone with better natural instincts, but his ability to be courted is his downfall. I find it kind of funny, Chakotay’s been sleeping with one of his crew, a Bajoran called Seska.”

“That’s a Cardassian name,” Kathryn sucked in her breath sharply, understanding the subtle warning, or perhaps hint, about Chakotay’s personality.

“I know that,” Tom managed, finding amusement in the situation. “You’d think he would as well, even with her story of being born and raised in a work camp. It seems B’Elanna, _Val Jean’s_ Engineer, had a crush on the man since he recruited her and is suspicious of Seska’s motivations. I befriended the Maquis temperamental Klingon and Torres attempted to use the relationship to make Chakotay jealous.” Shrugging easily, the Intelligence officer once again emerged, “I used the bond to improve my unscrupulous character. Believe me, when Torres finds out, I’m going to need a security detail if she comes within fifty meters.”

“A woman scorned,” Kathryn allowed a glint of humour to enter her grey orbs while the tactician recorded this information for later possible use. “What sort of crew does he have.”

“Undisciplined,” Tom stated, a smirk covering his lips, “untrained, fanatic. In short, anyone is willing to join the fight with even the smallest amount of experience. The only reason I got on board was my piloting skills. My winning personality did the r

“I bet,” Kathryn couldn’t stop the short chuckle. “However, I’m still short a First Officer and you are my best option.”

“Starfleet won’t see it that way,” he warned with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “Besides, you need a competent Conn officer if a crewman is all you can manage at the helm. I can give my advice just as well from the front of the bridge as standing beside you. I gather your losses were as devastating as _Val Jean’s_.”

“First, Medical, Con and Engineering,” the Captain swore, her guilt surfacing, “along with twenty-seven other crew.”

“So, the entire Senior team,” Tom whistled, understanding the concern in his wife’s gaze. He’d seen her this guilt ridden once before, yet it explained her insistence on his taking the first officer’s position. “Chakotay’s going to have the same trouble if he can’t get Torres back. Not only is she an amazing engineer, she had two years at the academy and is, somewhat, disciplined. Mike Ayala graduated in the operations stream, never taking up his first posting, preferring to join the Maquis. He has potential, especially if he had someone like Tuvok’s tutelage. There’s not anyone else qualified for Officer status on _Val Jean_. The rest aren’t even suitable as crewmen on any federation vessel.”

“How does he keep that ship flying,” the Captain asked, shaking her head with disbelief.

“He had me,” the cocky pilot she’d fallen in love with emerged.

“So, you’re volunteering as helmsman?” Kathryn asked, puzzled. Tom’s hands itched, in those early days of Voyager’s construction, to be back at the conn. It was a waste of his skills and they both knew it.

“Yes, Ma’am,” that predatory expression was back, with the impish behaviour that characterised Tom Paris.

“Why?” Kathryn demanded, not sure if the Captain or the wife was asking.

“There will be one level of command between us,” Tom had finally reached the woman. Taking the liberty of privacy afforded by the Captain’s ready room, he wrapped his arms around Kate and kissed his wife. Not with the passion she obviously expected, but sweetly, leaving her with the promise of connecting completely after they were out of danger and when they had the time. “Starfleet won’t be able to take _Voyager_ from you, if that’s what you want, when we get back to the Alpha quadrant. Tuvok’s reputation is above reproach. His Vulcan ethics impeccable and ability to act logically undeniable. In short,” Tom grinned, “he’ll keep me on my toes and you true to your Starfleet principals.”

“Then you’d better get to your station,” Captain Paris stated, understanding her husband’s reasoning. “Oh,” she managed, barely hiding the hunger in her expression, “ _Voyager_ is on yellow alert and double shifts until repairs are completed. I don’t want you terrifying my junior officers in that uniform, so change before you go.”

“Here,” came the wicked response, “in front of my Captain.”

“Yes, here,” Kathryn knew she should stop this before it went any further. In the back of her mind, she needed to ensure he’d returned to her without more scars. The Cardassian’s had given them enough to cope with.

“Not a good idea, Kate,” Tom whispered harshly, trying to control his suddenly spiking libido with his wife so close, “when I haven’t seen you for six months. In this uniform I have to comply with the rules and regulations. Take it off and I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Your reluctance is acknowledged Commander,” she sighed, knowing their moment together had ended. “I’ll be on the bridge. I want a full report on the repairs needed for helm control within the hour. At some point we’ll have to discuss your duties beyond the con, which are consistent with your rank.”

“Slave driver,” Tom managed with a soft smile that made promises for later. He headed for the replicator. “You know,” he hesitated before calling up the correct uniform, “I’m not sure placing any rank on my collar is a good idea until we get back home.”

Raising an eyebrow, the Captain’s answer rivalled that of her Vulcan Tactical Officer.

“If you do promote Tuvok,” Tom added weight to his words which indicated his opinion on the matter, “the crew would address him as Commander.”

“Your point,” Kathryn suggested, “is my First Officer should out rank you, even in yellow.” Sighing, she understood only two well. “As Intelligence, you have the right to leave your pips off altogether.”

Grinning, Tom simply nodded. Picking up the crisp, clean fabric, he considered his next words vary carefully, knowing a Starfleet crew would hate the suggestion. “On _Val Jean_ , energy and spare parts were always in short supply. Maybe we need to consider something like the rationing system they use. If it takes us any length of time to convince that entity to send us home, we’re going to need to conserved resources.”

“Agreed,” Kathryn turned to look at him. “I’ll have the Operations Officer submit a proposal. Commander,” she hesitated before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Yes,” he answered reluctantly, knowing what would come next. He stood still and listened, not because he didn’t understand, but because his wife needed to say the words.

“You’re right,” Kathryn sighed again, adding an intense look at the man before her, “anywhere but our quarters, its Captain. And Tom, I’ll consider your opinions in regard to Tuvok and your rank.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” his tone cheeky, his eyes communicated his compliance, even if he didn’t like the constrains working together would place on their personal relationship.


	7. The Journey Beings

“Commander,” Tuvok greeted as he unobtrusively approached the blond man sitting alone in deck two’s forward lounge. Both officers had been on duty for over twenty hours, so far, and there seemed little relief in sight. Aiding in any capacity to repair _Voyager’s_ many damaged systems, they maintained regular meal and rest breaks for the crew. However, those rules didn’t encompass the current command team, especially the Captain.

“Take a seat,” Tom offered with a friendly smile, pushing away his empty bowl. He waited until the officer’s mess was likely to be empty before escaping for a well-deserved meal. “Even for a Vulcan, you seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. I know how heavy that extra half pip can be.”

“That is not an accurate perception,” the tactical officer stated blandly, continuing to stand and look directly at the wall behind Mr. Paris. An hour earlier Tuvok uncovered the decreasing time period between energy pulses directed at the fifth planet. After a short discussion with the Captain, his worry for her continued wellbeing increased. Unusually for a Vulcan, he’d debated how to approach the situation fraught with complications. Finally, Tuvok decided on this course of action as the least troublesome but largest possibility of succeeding. “I am concerned about Captain Paris.”

“Join the club, Tuvok,” Tom sighed, his easy demeanour fading rapidly. Sitting forward, Commander Paris laced his fingers and rested them on the table. “We both know Kate has a habit of being all work and no play. If you can tell me a way to get her off the bridge or out of her ready room, I’ll do it. Our Captain has been on duty the same length of time as the two of us with little more than coffee to sustain her and no intention of relinquishing control any time soon. Until my wife enters our quarters, there’s not a lot I can do to change Kate’s mind. I’m not crossing that line. Captain Paris made the distinction crystal clear.”

“Understood,” Tuvok acknowledged both the words and unspoken restrictions placed on the man who should be his commanding officer but was not by the Captain’s dictate. Allowing an eyebrow to rise, it explained the current lack of pips of on Commander Paris’s collar. It seemed the Captain wanted the crew to understand her relationship with her husband would, in no way, impair her decision-making ability or authority. “However, I would be remiss in my duty if I did not point out that the crew will not benefit from the leadership of an exhausted Captain.”

“Tuvok,” Tom shook his head while allowing a heavy sigh and half-hearted smile. He could see the stoic man logically counselling the Captain and imagine Kate’s reaction. “Only you would be allowed to get away with telling my wife that. I know she relies on your guidance and has done for years. I suppose this means Kate’s obsessing over getting this crew home?”

“You would be correct,” Tuvok agreed, finally sliding into the seat beside Paris. If a Vulcan could sigh, the tactical officer came as close to an expression of regret as Vulcanly possible. “Guilt seems to be a constant companion in situations such as these.”

“And is driving her decisions,” Tom responded, his lips turning downward into a frown. He knew Kate and this behaviour was as natural to her as breathing to anyone else. “All right, Tuvok, I’ll see if I can get her to take a break and eat something. You and I both know how determinedly single minded she can be so don’t expect me to be successful, or survive the attempt with my marriage intact.”

It didn’t take long for Tom Paris to take the turbolift up one level. Ignoring the opening onto the bridge, the Commander used the back entrance to the Captain’s ready room. Waiting for the chime to be answered seemed to take forever. When Kathryn called “come,” in a distracted tone, Tom ignored protocol and brushed past the woman with a PADD in her hand.

Proceeding directly to her replicator, Kathryn watched in momentary astonishment, knowing she should rebuke Tom. Her husband hesitated only a second before ordering a rich, savoury dish with the most calories non-humanly possible. Tom knew it was a compilation of her favourites because he’d personally programmed it into Voyager’s memory banks. After collecting the plate of aromatic food, he added a cup of black coffee and placed the items on the table in the lounge area.

“I’m not leaving until that plate is clean,” Tom stated, his body language stiff with arms across his chest and foot tapping, “and don’t bother to tell me you had something earlier or you’re not hungry. No matter what you excuse, I’m not going to believe it, Kate.”

“I believe we’ve had this discussion, Commander,” the Captain used her grey eyes to look through her junior officer in chastisement. The appearance was foiled as the smell hit her olfactory nerve and Kathryn’s stomach growled menacingly. Throwing up her hands, she stated acidly, “I suppose Tuvok put you up to this.”

“Newly promoted Lt. Commander Tuvok wouldn’t be a good first officer if he didn’t use every weapon in his arsenal to ensure the Captain’s welfare,” Tom grinned, watching as his wife picked up a fork and explore the concoction on her plate. “Don’t blame this on Tuvok, Kate. You have a habit of ignoring yourself.”

“Nicely done, Commander,” Kathryn, not the Captain said, the first mouthful being suddenly masticated with groans of delight. “What I want to know,” she managed, cutting a second portion and her grey eyes piercing her husband, “is how you managed to get all my favourites into this.”

“I believe it was invented by one of your civilian consultants on _Billings_. Do you remember Dr Catherine Barson Eastis*,” Tom grinned, happy to see his wife eating, and relaxing, for a few moments. “The bread part of the eggs benedict is actually welsh rarebit using a coffee stout batter. The strawberry and asparagus accompaniment, in Dr. Eastis’s words, is an Anglo-Franco fusion with your heart-attack-on-warp-engines. It might just make up for the three meals you’ve missed since I came on board. I’m not even going to guess how long it has been since you’ve slept.”

“I suppose next,” she eyed him menacingly while scooping up yet another forkful of the ultimate brunch, “you’re going to try and tuck me into bed for a few hours’ sleep?”

“If I tuck you in, Kate,” Tom crossed that line deliberately, yet stayed exactly where he stood, “you know sleep will be the last thing on either of our minds. No, Captain,” his demeanour changed suddenly, “I suggest you just rest on that couch for a couple of hours and let your command team take over your load.”

“You have a good crew. The work is proceeding as fast as possible and to Starfleet standard. Tuvok’s taking a break now so we can once we’re underway. By the time you’ve rested, the engines will be back on line and you can order your officer at the helm to get moving in the direction of that G-type star system. Maybe then,” Tom could tell she knew what was coming next, “you can tuck me in.”

“Get out of here, Commander,” the Captain growled softly, almost a third of her meal finished. Before he stepped through the door, Kathryn added, “thank you, Tom.”

Commander Paris did not look back. Stepping onto the bridge, Tom approached Tuvok’s station. Waiving to Lt. Rollins to remain as he was, Tom left a message for the Vulcan, understanding they needed to form a closer bond in the coming days if they were to combat the Captain’s ability to deny her personal needs. While it remained peaceful and command could be placed into the hands of a junior officer, between them they needed to divide Cavit’s duties as well as preform those assigned them as Tactical and Conn officers. Beyond that, Tom wanted to see some of the responsibility removed from his wife’s shoulders. A good Captain knew when to delegate. That Kate didn’t, had always been her biggest failing.

“Lt. Rollins,” Tom addressed the younger man standing uneasily before the Captain’s chair. He expected to be relieved of duty by the senior officer. The space beside him stood empty. All hands were busy with repairs, leaving only a skeleton crew on the bridge. “I’m heading down to engineering to see what they have accomplished with the impulse and warp engines.”

“Lt. Carey expects the impulse at full power in three hours, Sir,” Rollins reported, understanding their Intelligence officer knew this already and expected to take the ship out himself before finally ending his shift.

On a ship the size of _Voyager_ , everyone had heard the current rumours. Commander Paris refused the First Officers position in favour of the Conn. After looking up his service record, at least as much as was available to the crew, they uncovered a ten-year marriage to their Captain and the fact the couple had served on the same ship, successfully, before. It went further in relieving their minds than placing Tuvok between them in the command structure.

Nodding at Rollins information, Tom still called for deck eleven when he stepped into the turbolift. He spent the next four hours wandering between departments and watching the status reports indicate when systems were back on line. Commander Paris redirected the data to his PADD from the Captain’s ready room console. He knew it would earn his wife’s ire when she uncovered his duplicity. It earnt him a comm from the Captain with an order to proceed directly to the bridge when she finally discovered his subterfuge. Tuvok had returned to his tactical station and merely watched the younger man move towards the helm, where he ejected the crewman just beginning his shift.

“Mr. Paris,” the Captain moved toward the conn when Lt. Carey announced the Warp Engines were back on line. Without thinking, Kathryn placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder and squeezed. “Set course to follow the energy pulses. Ensign Kaplan, send a message to Mr. Chakotay, informing the _Val Jean_ we are about to engage at warp six.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the young woman offered.

Tom smirked, his fingers itching to move over the board before him. Only the forward screen saw his delight at once again piloting one of Starfleet’s newest and most responsive ships into the unknown. Standing at his side, Kathryn observed her husband via his reflection and had to quash the impulse to shake her head at his boyish enthusiasm, especially after almost twenty-five hours on duty. Waiting for the operations officer to accomplish her job, Tom finally felt Kate give the signal.

“Warp six,” he all but whispered as the fingers on his shoulder dug into his muscle. Louder, Tom announced to the rest of the bridge, “ _Val Jean_ is flying parallel and holding course. Seven hours until we reach the systems outer rim and clear sailing between here and there.”

“Long range sensors are detecting a debris field half a light year beyond the systems heliopause,” Ensign Kaplan reported with a smile. Both the Captain and Commander Paris looked tired. Everyone understood one wouldn’t rest until the other was off duty. “We will be in range for a detailed sensor sweep in five hours.”

“Slow to half impulse when we reach it,” the Captain ordered, turning and striding towards the turbolift, “and scan for any items that might be of use. Mr. Tuvok, you have the bridge. I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”

“Aye, Captain,” the Vulcan acknowledged while indicating a crewman should take his place. Before he could formulate a way to remove Commander Paris from his station, Tom signalled to the displaced pilot who should have been on duty to take the helm. Ten minutes later, he proceeded to the turbolift with a rather jaunty spring in his step. Tuvok’s only response was a very slightly raised eyebrow. He would not disturb the Captain or Commander until it became necessary, which, logically meant approaching the debris field.

Their reunion proved quick and the resulting sleep unable to make up for a twenty-four-hour long shift. Before either Commander or Captain Paris could say they felt rested, the computer woke them. Back on the bridge, Ensign Kaplan reported one life sign within the debris field. A Delta quadrant native, a gentleman called Neelix, confirmed other ships had encountered the entity known as the Caretaker. Over the last three months, vessels from elsewhere had been taken from their home with loss of crew members and stranded in the Delta quadrant. He agreed to help retrieve their crew, for water.

“Mr. Paris,” the Captain grinned, somewhat amused by the odd little man, “please make use of your skills and greet our guest in transporter room two.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tom answered, however the look in his eye stated he was not at all pleased by this turn of events.

Neelix, who had not seen enough water to bath in for years, carried a particular odour from the moment he materialised. Once introduced to his quarters, the odd little Talaxian became quite talkative while eagerly investigating. Commander Paris recommended the bathroom as his first port of call. With only a few subtle questions while drawing the man a bath, Tom was able to establish that water was a scares resource in this part of the sector. Further, the Ocampa lived underground but the surface and the region controlled by a race known as the Kazon. Neither transporters nor replicators had been invented and the general level of technology was barely warp capable. Tom suspected they were several hundred years behind the Federation. Added to that, the Caretaker fiercely defended the Ocampan city from invasion with advanced methods.

“Mr. Paris,” the Captain requested when Tom returned to her ready room and indicated Tuvok should join them for a de-brief. After hearing his report, Kathryn asked with a raised eyebrow, “what is your recommendation, Commander.”

“These Kazon should be avoided at all cost,” the Intelligence officer frowned, letting one hand curl under his chin and his eyes close as Tom considered all he’d learnt from the verbally incompetent Talaxian. “According to Neelix, several fractions appeared around thirty years ago after commandeering the technology and space fleet of another species called the Trabe. Within a short time frame they started fighting among themselves and threw this part of the sector into a constant battlefield over resources. They can’t be trusted,” suddenly the Intelligence operative’s eyes opened and speared both the Captain and Tactical Officer. He was choosing his words very carefully. “Currently they do not have either replicator or transporter technology, but would destroy _Voyager_ or _Val Jean_ to get it, if it gave them tactical superiority over their counterparts.”

“We cannot let that happen at any cost. So where does that leave us,” Kathryn asked, concerned. “It seems we’ve been thrown into the middle of a civil warzone.”

“Essentially,” Tom frowned, attempting to put all the pieces of the puzzle together without a picture. “It’s the Maquis I’d be worried about, if we can’t get the Caretaker to send us home. There are crew on that vessel who don’t consider the Prime Directive relevant.”

“Are you inferring,” Tuvok stated to ensure his understanding, “members of _Val Jean_ would sell or trade Alpha quadrant technology for safe passage.”

“They’d offer it for just about any reason, Tuvok,” Tom responded, recalling many minor incidents on _Val Jean_ that went against his personal ethics. Disappointment colouring his tone, “and maybe even behind Chakotay’s back. I caught Seska contacting disreputable sources when she wanted information, some of them known to be sympathetic to the Cardassian cause. The Maquis have questionable ethics, although the Captain, Ayala and Torres seem to uphold Starfleet morality, most of the time.”

“Then,” Tuvok responded, “we will have to ensure the Maquis are unable to form new alliances in the quadrant. Perhaps including Mr. Chakotay in the rescue attempt will give us better insight to their current assessment of the situation.”

“Agreed, Tuvok. However, that’s only one of the issues we are experiencing. This Ocampan world is virtually a desert,” the Captain threw up her hands. As they moved closer, Kathryn’s scientific curiosity peeked and she had Ensign Kaplan aim the sensors toward their destination. “Not one ocean, not one river. It has all the basic characteristics of an M-class planet except there are no nucleogenic particles in the atmosphere. Life, civilization should be impossible on this world without rain, and yet there are two species inhabiting it. What could the Kazon and Ocampa possibly want?”

“If I understood Neelix correctly,” Tom answered sourly, “the Ogla sect has claimed the Ocampan world for mineral deposits. They trade the ore for water and other supplies.”

“But obviously not Mr. Neelix’s debris,” Tuvok’s tone on anyone else would have been ironic. “The items in orbit are the remains of several vessels and satellites manufactured by various cultural styles and technologies over the last millennia. There is little of any use to _Voyager_ or _Val Jean_ as they are either incompatible or well below current Federation standard.”

“Well,” Captain Kathryn Paris stated, “let’s make sure the Kazon never discover our advanced technology and the Maquis do the same. Mr. Paris, have the helm approach the Ocampan world as stealthily as possible. I want to get in, get our people and get out quickly and quietly.”

* * *

*Recipe taken from The Gluttonous Geek’s website. Thank you for the use of your amazing brunch.


	8. Traitors

"You," Captain Kathryn Paris was more than angry, she was furious. Few on her ship would get in the way of the woman currently venting her rage at the odd little Delta quadrant native. The away teams venture down to the planet proved Neelix couldn't be trusted. He had used them, not to find the tunnels leading to the Ocampan underground city as promised, but to mount a rescue mission for his lover. The only consolation, they liberated a young Ocampan woman who managed to escape her subterranean prison. "You almost cost the lives of three crew and Kes. What were you thinking, walking us into a trap!"

"If you had told us what you were going to do," Tom couldn't contain his own anger, especially as his wife had almost been injured in the altercation with the Kazon, "I might have been ready when Maj Jabbin fired his weapon at the Captain, Chakotay and Ayala. You're lucky I was close enough to extract my hidden knife and save the situation from deteriorating further."

"A crude but effective weapon, even if the overall plan was not," Tuvok allowed, indicating his security team should take up point outside sick bay. Neither Neelix, Kes or the Maquis were free to wander the halls of _Voyager_.

"I warned you," Kathryn sent a quelling look at her husband and tactical officer, who once again seemed to be working to a single purpose. While Tom didn't look abashed, he did stand down with his arms crossed beside his wife. "Our technology is not for barter or trade in this quadrant, Mr. Neelix. You were not authorised to inform the Kazon about our transporter. It breaks our Prime Directive."

"Don't be angry at Neelix," the rather delicate looking young woman demanded in a soft voice. The EMH had healed her various cuts and bruises inflicted by the Kazon during Kes's incarceration. "I never should have gone to the surface. I'm too curious. I'm told it's my worst failing."

"While that may be the case," the Captain continued to scrutinise the Talaxian forcing him to remain quiet, "when I give an order, Mr. Neelix, I expect it to be obeyed." Suddenly losing her ire, Kathryn sighed heavily and turned to face the young Ocampan woman. The Captain had to wonder if the scars went further than physical beatings, but that discussion would have to wait until they were alone. The echoes of her own treatment while in Cardassian hands were unmercifully quashed behind a mental concrete wall. "We might still salvage something, if you would be willing to take us underground to look for our missing crew."

Beside her, Chakotay watched with impassive eyes. Captain Paris invited the Maquis to accompany the away team after explaining the situation and what might be expected on the planet surface. Both he and Ayala beamed over to _Voyager_ prepared for the arid environment and hours searching for hidden entrances into the Ocampa's underground sanctuary. Above them, both crews searched for an easier entry point. Understanding the tactical advantage of observation, Chakotay immediately agreed to the very solid plan, which he knew came from Commander Paris. It would give him time to analyse his enemy. Besides, Starfleet had better sensor arrays and were well equipped to mount the mission to rescue Torres and Kim. Leaving Hogan in charge of the bridge and Seska attempting to fill in for Torres, he hoped they had the small raider ready to run once they'd recovered their engineer. _Val Jean's_ Captain knew neither had the training or self-discipline for the promotions, but his options were running low with the loss of Torres and the man he'd known as Nick Locarno.

_And now_ , he fumed quietly, _I haven't got Torres back. I'm standing in sickbay, on a Starfleet vessel that could transport my entire crew into the brig if Seska and Hogan don't react quickly enough and what are we discussing? Yet another attempt to get our people back with an enemy that has already betrayed us once, twice if you count Paris. Added to that, we've managed to alert the local Kazon faction to our presence and advanced technology. How long before they return with reinforcements. Even with our shield and weapons, they might just win by sheer weight of numbers._

"This time," Paris hissed into the Captain's ear while Neelix and Kes argued about helping find Kim and Torres, "you will not be making up one of the away team."

Pretending ignorance of the whispered conversation, Chakotay's attention was brought back to the present. He sent a look in Ayala's direction, indicating he would study the Paris's while Mike should gather as much information on the Vulcan tactical officer and the Delta quadrant natives. Paris and Paris seemed to form the command team and understanding them might be of advantage in the future.

"Are you pulling rank on me, Commander," Kathryn hissed, quietly enough for only the man at her side to hear. In this scenario, Tom's background gave him the ability to choose the members and purpose of any away missions due to his Intelligence training. Further, Starfleet regulations would support his assessment above the Captain's if she attempted to overrule him and lead the team herself.

"I'm reminding you of procedure," Tom fired back sarcastically, "Captain. I'll take Andrews and Kes along with Chakotay and Ayala. _Voyager_ can survive without me if the Ocampa prove as **_friendly_** as the Kazon. My team can try and beam in using the micro fractures in the shield Kaplan uncovered. Just make sure you have the Transporter chief keep a lock on us."

While the Captain wanted to accompany the team, Tom's suggestion was more in line with protocol, and made sense in this uncharted and hostile region of space. In such a situation, with many of her senior officers killed in action, it was the Captain's responsibility to remain with the ship and maintain a command team. Like it or not, Kathryn Paris felt constrained by the very organisation she'd vowed to serve and the feeling chaffed.

Unable to stand around doing nothing any longer, Captain Paris cleared her throat, halting the conversation and drawing all eyes toward her. They needed to get past this petty bickering. "Are you willing to help us, Kes," Kathryn stepped beside the biobed and asked in a gentle tone. Her eye's never leaving the younger woman. They held a slight pleading, indicating how important it was to locate and rescue Torres and Kim.

"Kes can tell you where to go," Neelix stated belligerently, "but now that she's free, we're leaving this system together."

"Neelix," Kes's soft voice rebuked, her empathic abilities overwhelmed by the various emotions swirling around the room. "These people rescued me. It would be wrong not to help them now. Captain," she looked into Kathryn's eyes, "the tunnels I used would have been sealed to prevent the Kazon entering the city."

"We might have a way to transport you directly into the cavern," Captain Paris smiled. "I'll explain once we have a plan. Rest until Commander Paris returns to get you."

"Captain on the bridge," a crewman announced when the turbolift deposited the senior crew, two Maquis and their security escort to level one.

"As you were," Kathryn waved to Lt. Rollins easily, even allowing a smile to grace her lips. "I'll be in my ready room and not to be disturbed. Ensign Kaplan, I want plan B ready as soon as you have the calculations completed. Send the data to my workstation."

Without thinking, Captain Paris approached her desk and sat heavily into the seat. Rolling up the sleeve of her jacket and turtle neck revealed a burn on her right forearm that both hurt and itched. Everyone in the room heard Commander Paris's indrawn breath. Before Kathryn began speaking, her husband had picked the dermal regenerator out of her top draw and started waving the instrument.

"Done that before," Chakotay mocked, watching the fluid grace between the pair. He wondered how long they'd been married and if they'd served on the same ship during their careers. With an obvious age gap, it was no wonder they had chosen different Starfleet streams. Tactically, it was the only way to work together.

"Once or twice," Tom responded before his wife could get a word in. "I don't remember you complaining the last time Gul Evek of the Cardassian Fourth Order left casualties on _Val Jean_ and you expected me to clean up his mess."

"Enough," Kathryn pushed Tom away, even though her injury could use another few seconds to heal completely. Pulling down her sleeve, she'd finish the treatment herself after they'd left. "I expect you to treat a member of my crew with respect, Mr. Chakotay. Mr. Paris, if I hear you being insubordinate to another ship's Captain again, those regulations you are so fond of will be enacted. Do I make myself understood gentlemen?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Tom barked, standing to attention, regenerator still in hand.

"Aye, Captain," Chakotay said at the same time, annoyed with himself for falling back into ingrained Starfleet behaviour by simply hearing the Captain's tone.

"Good. Now, shall we make another attempt to get our people off that planet?" the Captain demanded, quirking her eyebrow. Receiving a nod from each man, Kathryn checked her terminal. Ensign Kaplan had been very thorough, indicating the time between energy pulses had decreased further and the transporters remodulated allowing an away team to beam directly into the underground city.

Sharing the information, Tuvok insisted, "I believe time is of the essence, Captain. It would seem the Caretaker may attempt to seal any approach to the Ocampan cavern in the near future. I will have operations monitor the Array for changes."

"Agreed," Kathryn acknowledged. "I want Mr. Neelix to remain on _Voyager_ while Commander Paris leads this rescue attempt. Once we have Kim and Torres in sickbay, our doctor will look them over. I suggest we return to the array at that time, Mr. Chakotay and determine if the entity can be forced to return us to the Alpha quadrant."

"Agreed," Chakotay offered easily, his dark gaze raking over Paris. He didn't like the idea of the traitor leading the mission, yet as Nick Locarno, the man had proven extremely efficient and inventive in a tough situation. Only now did Chakotay appreciate Tom Paris's intelligence training.

The rescue mission didn't quite go as expected. The remainder of the Kazon-Ogla, warned that a ship more advanced than their own was in the sector, began to converge on _Voyager's_ position. Maj Jabbin, hadn't been prepared for two enemy vessels orbiting the Ocampan World. Unwilling to allow intruders into his space, he lost both small raiders in the initial skirmish but barely caused minor damage to the Alpha quadrant vessels.

In the Ocampan metropolis, Kes uncovered that Ensign Kim and B'Elanna Torres were being kept at the central medical facility. Locating the pair turned into an adventure. It seemed Torres and Kim were attempting to find their own way to the surface. They hadn't been seen for several hours. Loath to split the away team into smaller units, Tom insisted they stay together.

"Paris to Voyager," he called, waiting for the operations officer to acknowledge his com. Something had changed as the subterranean buildings shook violently around them. The Ocampa didn't panic, yet a sense of chaos surrounded them.

"Commander, the array's energy pulses have been weaponised," Kaplan reported in an urgent tone. "The entity is attempting to seal the energy conduits on the surface."

"Tom, you need to get out of there while we still have a transporter lock on you. The resulting ionisation has irradiated the planet's crust and will interfere with our sensors," the Captain stated tersely. It seemed she was under duress, yet Tom knew something else had to be occurring for Kate to pull the away team before completing their mission.

"Negative, Captain," Tom stated, making intuitive decisions he would never be able to defend later. "We haven't found Kim or Torres. Four to beam back. I'll contact you for another option once I find our crew. In the meantime, keep working on a solution. Paris out."

Before Chakotay could protest, the others in his party shimmered into non-existence. Able to move more quickly without an entourage, Tom set to work. Asking after B'Elanna seemed to elicit more of a response from these people than describing Ensign Kim. They remembered the angry Klingon. It took another half an hour to locate the pair who had made it to the city's outskirts and were currently resting.

"Paris to _Voyager_ ," Tom tapped his badge on sighting the exhausted looking pair. Before waiting for an answer, he made the cheeky suggestion, "I hope you have escape plan C operational, Captain. Three to beam up at your convenience."

"We're a little busy at the moment," Kathryn's voice sounded strained. In the background, Tom heard the screaming of tortured bulkheads and the sound of klaxons blaring battle stations. "I'm unable to drop the shields until we've finished off these Kazon raiders. Hold on, Tom, we'll get you out of there as soon as we can. Paris out."

"Ah," Harry Kim looked up at the man in Starfleet red without any insignia on his collar. "Did you say your name was Paris, Tom Paris?"

"Paris," Torres mocked at the same time, turning her shocked expression towards Kim as his words finally registered. "When did you become Paris, Nick? And why are you wearing that uniform? Who was that woman calling you Tom anyway?"

"It's a long story, B'Elanna, with an answer you're not going to like," Tom warned. "I suggest we leave it until we get you back to _Val Jean_. Chakotay's going to need your expertise on the bridge. His ship is barely holding together and that was before being attacked."

"Sounds like we have time now," she pushed herself from sitting on the ground and entered Nick's personal space. The pustules on her neck and arms obvious at such close quarters caused Tom to swallow his revulsion. The grimace covering B'Elanna's features meant they were extremely painful if a Klingon acknowledged their existence. "You might be Chakotay's lacky, but I make up my own mind. So far I'm not liking what I'm hearing or seeing." Placing the flat of her hand against Nick's chest, she pushed, hard. Even in her weakened state, the Klingon still had enough strength to force Tom to take a step backwards.

"Don't look at me," Harry Kim held up his hands in a gesture of surrender when Torres's quarry refused to utter a word and she demanded an answer from the Ensign. "I've never seen him before. I can tell you, this man didn't get here on _Voyager_."

"No, he got here with the Maquis," B'Elanna growled, not liking the ideas forming in her mind. "So, what's your real name, Tom Paris or Nick Locarno, and why in Kahless's name are you wearing that uniform?"

"My name is Commander Thomas Paris," Tom sighed. _Better to get the physical punishment out of her system while she's unwell and not within sight of Voyager's crew._ "Starfleet Intelligence. I was sent to infiltrate the Maquis and gather evidence of Cardassian infractions in the DMZ. Right now, you need to be more concerned about Chakotay and the _Val Jean_. They are in orbit and currently under attack by a species called Kazon. After our doctor treats you, I'll personally ensure you get back to your ship B'Elanna."

"So, you are related to the Captain," Kim suddenly piped up innocently. It seemed Kim and Torres had developed some kind of a bond because B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "What," he answered the half Klingon's unasked question with a shrug of his shoulders, " _Voyager's_ Captain is Kathryn Paris. Her father's Admiral Paris."

"Actually," Tom smiled, realising there was no point in hiding the facts, especially as _Voyager's_ crew had scanned the data base and both he and Kate wore old-fashioned wedding rings, "my wife's father, Admiral Janeway passed away more than a decade ago. Admiral Owen Paris is her father-in-law."

A string of Klingon expletives erupted, causing Harry to blush when the universal translator managed to turn one in six into standard. Tom had been expecting something more violent on discovery that he'd not only infiltrated the Maquis and was related to Starfleet brass, but deceived B'Elanna on a personal level. He wasn't disappointed when Torres suddenly stopped her triad and pulled back her fist. He let the enraged woman take one shot.

"I hope that makes you feel better, Torres," Tom warned in his very best commander's tone, "because if you ever try it again, be prepared for the consequences. Starfleet doesn't look kindly on their officers being assaulted and I know how much you'd love spending solitary time in _Voyager's_ brig."

If her glare could have, it turned even more glacial. Yet she had enough sense, and probably training, to control her temper. Young Ensign Kim's worried expression helped calm the angry Klingon. It seemed incarceration together formed a bond between the pair. "What are you looking at, Starfleet," B'Elanna hissed.

"Nothing," Ensign Kim swallowed, his eyes darting between the pair before him.

"I gather you were looking for a way out of here," Tom took command, ignoring the altercation in favour of assessing his surrounding, "before I fell over the pair of you. Let's continue, in case _Voyager_ or _Val Jean_ can't get us out of here. We've had one run in with the Kazon. I'd like to avoid any further disputes."

"Yes, Sir," Harry immediately stood to attention. Even if Tom Paris didn't have three pips on his collar, he had the demeanour of a long serving officer and was the Captain's husband. There was no way Ensign Kim would cross the well-connected man.

"You're not really just going to roll over, Starfleet," B'Elanna looked astonished.

" _Voyager_ to Paris," Tom's comm chirped, saving Harry from responding. He'd never been happier to hear is wife's voice. She didn't wait for his acknowledgement. "We'll drop our shield in five seconds, as soon as this Kazon turns for another pass. Stand by for transport. I'm afraid I'll need you at the Conn, Commander. It seems we've upset the natives and I need your advanced piloting skills to get us back to the array before the Kazon."

"Understood, Captain," Tom said. "Ensign Kim and Ms. Torres should be beamed directly to sick bay. Paris out."

Before he finished the last word, the three individuals found themselves caught up in the pull of the transporter beam. The moment Tom felt the deck beneath his feet and noted the bridge consoles surrounding him, Commander Paris strode to the helm. Crewman Grimes didn't hesitate, vacating the seat without handing over. He didn't need to. Commander Paris's innate ability obvious, he'd analysed the data displayed on the viewscreen and at his station almost instantaneously.

"Where are the Maquis hiding?" Tom demanded of the tactical station. He knew the tricks used by Chakotay when outwitting the Cardassian's.

"They have not yet entered the battle," Tuvok responded. To which Commander Paris let out a string of cursing in several languages.

"My thought's exactly," Kathryn stated, yet the tone of her words spelt trouble for the crew of the raider if she ever got her hands on them. "Any ideas on how to entice them, Tom."

"Several," he growled low in his throat, "but only one that will work. Operations, open a channel to _Val Jean_ , we need to work together to shake these raiders," Tom ordered. "I count four coming around in a scattered pattern."

Behind him, Kathryn indicated Kaplan should make it so. "Evasive manoeuvre Beta two. Concentrate fire on the port side. Let's see if we can even the odds a little."

"Chakotay," Tom growled, knowing the man was listening, "if you don't want your engineer back, that's fine by me. I have grounds to stick her in the brig for assaulting a Starfleet Officer and a witness to her crime. And that's where she'll stay until we get back to have her tried for treason."

"Beam Torres over now," the enraged man demanded.

"Sorry," Kathryn didn't sound at all contrite, "can't drop shields at the moment. Maybe if you help us out, I might be able to arrange it once we reached the Array."

"Changing to attack pattern Delta four," Tom called from the helm.

"I'll take the port," Chakotay's voice infused over the speakers but he didn't sound happy. He knew the Starfleet playbook. Heck, he'd invented some of the tactics. Taking up position, they raked all four of the Kazon Vessels mounting this renewed attack, leaving two without propulsion, one minus an operational weapons array and the final ship in a million tiny shards.

"Setting a course for the array," Tom offered.

"Warp seven, Mr. Paris. Mr. Chakotay," Kathryn stood, hanging onto the rail between herself and the con, "try to keep up. We will beam your engineer back once our doctor has cleared her for duty."

"Understood, Chakotay out." The channel closed, leaving both ships racing back to the Caretaker's array in the hope the Kazon hadn't sent reinforcements ahead of them.

It seemed life in the Delta quadrant would not prove that easy. "My ready room, Mr. Paris, Mr. Tuvok. Mr. Rollins, you have the bridge."


	9. Maquis

"Hogan," Seska all but screamed over the comm. Internally she wondered why Chakotay hadn't left her in charge on the bridge, after all, she had been sleeping with the man and expected some compensation for the onerous task. These humanoids were weak by Cardassian standards, letting emotion and protocol get in the way of what they really wanted. It seemed warming his bed wasn't enough to give her control when the only personnel on _Val Jean_ didn't have any Starfleet training. "What's going on up there? I sent Suder to reroute the EPS conduits at least fifteen minutes ago. Chakotay want's this ship ready the moment he gets back from the array with Torres."

There was little loved lost between Hogan and Seska. Both usually worked with Torres in Engineering and only her dominate influence, that being her fists, kept the peace between them. The difference due, in Hogan's opinion, to the fact he'd earned his place where as Seska used her feminine whiles to get what she wanted. There was just something off about the woman and he wondered why Chakotay didn't see it when the rest of the male crew did. Hogan knew Locarno, a reputed playboy tormented the Bajoran woman whenever the Captain wasn't around and Seska wasn't fond of Nick either.

"Lon's under the engineering console," Hogan responded, annoyance colouring his tone. "Considering the mess up here, you lucky he can find the conduits to work on. That displacement wave did a lot of damage."

"I should be done in ten minutes," Suder said, is tone typically even for a Betazoid. A loner by nature, he didn't like arguments.

"Get back down here," Seska made her displeasure known, "when you've finished. _Voyager_ still has a tractor beam on us. I want to see if we can find a way to disrupt it by the time Chakotay returns."

Hogan cut communications to Engineering as both he and Suder snorted. "Who does she think she is," Hogan snickered, "Torres? The last time she attempted something like that, she blew out half the ships relays and left us dead in space. If Torres and Locarno hadn't come up with patching in energy from life support to restart the impulse engines, we would all have been sitting in a Cardie prison camp."

"What do you think happened to B'Elanna?" Suder asked, suddenly intrigued.

Shrugging, Hogan responded, "Locarno wondered if it had to do with her being our engineer, or the only Klingon. When that Starfleet Captain said they'd lost an Ensign, Nick changed his mind. He and Chakotay said an Ensign wasn't important enough on a starship and couldn't be worth any tactical advantage. I guess we'll find out when they get back with Ayala."

Shimmering into existence on the transporter pad, Hogan and Seska watched as Chakotay and Ayala appeared. They'd been gone a little over half an hour. Returning so soon spelt trouble for an already understaffed ship and both knew it. Without the two officers Chakotay relied on to keep his ship running smoothly and the ten dead in the displacement wave, they were running on near empty.

"What happened to Locarno and Torres?" Seska demanded. Recently both had become a thorn in her side. The blue-eyed blond treated her without respect and their resident Klingon wanted Chakotay for herself, even if she was pretending to fawn over Locarno to make him jealous. With both gone, it was her chance to ingratiate herself in the command structure. Knocking off Ayala wouldn't be too hard which might give her a clear chance at commanding this shockingly out-dated vessel.

"Starfleet thinks Torres has been taken by the entity in the array because she passed some kind of biometric testing. She's been transported to the same planet as the energy pulses," Ayala stated easily, watching Chakotay apprehensively. "Locarno…"

"Starfleet can have that traitor," the Captain spat, obviously not wanting to talk about the man. While it peaked Seska's interest, she'd leave questioning him for a more intimate moment. "Ayala, I want you to take over his duties. Seska, how are those engines coming."

"Slowly," she growled, attempting to distract him with her suggestive body language. For once it didn't seem to work. "I'm not Torres."

"Don't we know it," Ayala muttered under his breath. In the week between Gul Evek's attack and getting stranded in the Delta quadrant, Nick had been more vocal about the Bajoran woman's lack of ethics and compassion. It had made many, Mike included, start to see Seska in a new light. Even with his recent revelations, Tom Paris's training might just have pinned the woman's character correctly.

"Enough," Chakotay ordered, his tone hardening as he glared at his subordinates. "Hogan, get back to engineering and see what you can do. I need weapons, shields and propulsion ready by the time _Voyager_ moves out. Captain Paris should have deactivated the tractor beam. They estimate their repairs will take twenty-four hours to complete. Then we're heading for the planet to rescue Torres."

"We're not really going to join them," Seska sounded furious.

"If you come up with a better way to get Torres back," Chakotay's voice became deathly quiet and menacing, "make the sensor array fully functional and return us to the Badlands without the help of that ship, I'm happy to hear it." Silence greeted him. "Then I suggest you stop standing here and get on with it."

Waiting until the other's left, Seska fired her parting shot in an acidic voice, "you're becoming soft, Chakotay."

"Maybe," he returned, the look narrowing on her, "I'm finally seeing clearly."

Unable to account for this sudden change in his character, Seska knew when to leave well enough alone. Retreating to engineering, she'd try to get Ayala talking. She was missing something and her training wouldn't let her rest until she knew what it was. "Nick Locarno," Seska whispered under her breath, understanding intuitively he was at the centre of this mystery. In her estimation, there was only one reason Chakotay would call him a traitor and Locarno would choose to remain on the Starfleet vessel. "He's the operative I've been looking for."

Enraged and feeling betrayed, _Val Jean's_ Captain knew Ayala wouldn't spread a word of Nick Locarno's true identity until given the signal. Twenty-four years in Starfleet and Chakotay could have kicked himself at not recognising Admiral Owen Paris's son. While the organisation employed more than thirty million people, over a thousand of which were Admirals, across tens of thousands of ships and bases, he'd met Owen Paris and the resemblance to his son was uncanny. Tom hadn't disguised himself in any way, or his age but he had traded on his boyish good looks and playful character. Hindsight proved the man to be much more than a Starfleet washout, even if both Locarno and Paris were excellent pilots. Chakotay just hadn't seen it, or hadn't wanted to see the truth when he was in desperate need of someone with Tom Paris's skills.

His anger sustained Chakotay through the next day as he fought to ignore many of the tactics and changes Loc…Paris rought on _Val Jean_ during his six-month tenure. Changes that improved the efficiency of his ship and crew. Between Seska and Hogan they managed to patch the old girl's engines and made some headway on repairing the other systems.

Approaching the G type system, Captain Paris sent a report containing their intelligence from a Delta quadrant native, one Talaxian named Mr. Neelix. It seemed the junk trader found in a debris field beyond the Ocampan heliopause had some relevant data to impart on the entity known as the Caretaker, the Ocampan home world and the socio-political environment in this sector. He'd even agreed to help them locate Torres and Kim and given the Alpha quadrant natives valuable intelligence.

"Ayala," Chakotay sat alone on the bridge after digesting the plan, "get up here."

"Something you need to talk about," the man asked quietly as he slipped into the chair beside his Captain. Without a word, Chakotay threw him a PADD. Several minutes and a low whistle later, Ayala questioned, "how much has been left out of this intel?"

"You'll need to ask Paris," Chakotay spat. Watching his now first officer's reaction, he added, "Captain or Commander, I don't think it matters. I don't trust either of them. She's Starfleet through and through, he's too good at his job to reveal everything."

"You really shouldn't have riled Captain Paris up like that," Ayala rebuked with a careless shrug of his shoulders, "after all the man we knew as Nick Locarno is her husband. Besides," watching his bosses' reaction from the corner of his eye, Mike decided to give his opinion, "you agreed to work with _Voyager_ until Torres was back on board and we were in the Alpha quadrant. Even amongst the Maquis, **_your_** word means something."

"Just make sure this ship is ready," Chakotay growled menacingly, "to break orbit and get back to that array once B'Elanna's in the engine room. I don't want any trouble with our weapons and shields barely holding together. Torres will have them sorted out by the time we reach the Caretaker. I plan on being back in the Badlands long before Captain Paris and her ship are anywhere near that array."

"Suder's working on the shields now," Ayala stated. "If anyone can repair the weapons array, it's Seska. I guess that means you're going to have to leave Hogan in charge of the bridge again when we beam over to _Voyager_?"

"Yes," Chakotay didn't look impressed. "Locarno might have been a pain in the backside, but he knew what I was thinking before I opened my mouth. I'm just not sure we can trust him, especially if he's de-briefed his wife and that Vulcan tactical officer on our crew and methods. You and I are going to have to watch every step on _Voyager_ and while we're on the Ocampan planet. I don't want to give anything away."

"Play it by the Fleet book, you mean," Ayala grinned ominously. He'd graduated three years ago, just when the Maquis movement started. Instead of taking up his assignment as an Ensign, Mike had been disillusioned by the Federations reaction to Cardassian atrocities on his wife's home world. He didn't want to think about Marla and his two sons, only getting home to them when they retrieved Torres.

"With a little Maquis twist," Chakotay added, "but only when Paris isn't looking. I don't want that man suspecting a thing. And Mike," in an odd moment of intuition, the Captain added, "we don't want to create another Cardassia Prime in this quadrant. Lock down our technology when we leave. If the Kazon get hold of _Val Jean_ for any reason…"

Nodding, Mike Ayala understood. The Prime Directive had been drilled into the two Maquis while in Starfleet. The people in this sector of space didn't need the same atrocities occurring as those in the DMZ experienced at the hands of a malevolent enemy. There was a similarity of purpose between these Kazon and the Cardassian's if Tom Paris's information proved correct. If there was one thing both Chakotay and Ayala understood, it was just how good Intelligence Commander Paris had been at ferreting out information while on _Val Jean_.

The mission to the surface of the Ocampan world proved interesting, but not as intriguing as the scene in _Voyager's_ sick bay. Chakotay felt the undercurrent of tension in the Paris marriage and, under the circumstances he completely understood it. It seemed serving on the same ship was going to cause some issues. Yet the pair worked together remarkably well within the command structure. The Captain had disparaged both Paris's and his behaviour, just as he would have done if two subordinates bickered in his ready room. Kathryn Paris might prove to be a tenacious, intelligent woman who stuck to her Starfleet principles. The thought pleased Chakotay, because he could work with that.

Tom Paris proved to be another matter entirely. When the going got tough, the man sent his away team back to their vessels and continued his mission alone. It was little more than Chakotay expected, he suddenly realised. Nick Locarno had been the same, ensuring the safety of _Val Jean's_ crew before his own. Yet the man always seemed to fall on his feet.

"Why didn't you tell us," Seska demanded, walking alongside the Captain when he beamed back without Torres, "that Locarno, or whatever his name is, was a traitor?"

She'd bided her time, allowing Chakotay to stew over the loss of his trusted first officer. If the anger on his face were any indication, he understood Locarno was a Starfleet intelligence plant. Something more than failing to recoup Torres had happened on while on _Voyager_. Seska managed to worm her way onto the bridge when Chakotay hailed Hogan and informed him of the foiled first attempt. That was when she realised the Kazon might be of help if they knew the exact location of the Federation vessel.

"I could ask why you let _Voyager_ take on two Kazon raiders alone?" Chakotay retorted the moment he returned to the bridge of his ship. His dark eyes raked over both Seska and Hogan, demanding answers.

"Because the weapons and shields are barely holding together," she answered testily. "One well aimed blow and we're history. Without Torres, the repairs have been slow. She's jury rigged so many systems on this old bucket, few of us know how to patch it up. I didn't think you'd want to put your crew in danger."

Acknowledging the comment with a nod, Chakotay almost found it within himself to laugh. _How many times have we been in a similar situation, with a Cardassian Battle Cruiser breathing in our warp trail and still come out the other side?_ He cursed silently _. Seska didn't complain then, so what's changed now. Voyager is a Federations ship, the only other one in this quadrant and the closest thing we have to a friend within seventy thousand light years. What's her point?_

Unwilling to consider the ramifications, Chakotay concentrated on the remains of the battle before him. Two heavily damaged scout ships buzzed around _Voyager_ , inflicting minimal damage. To his trained eye, they were assessing the larger vessel's capabilities. Captain Paris gave nothing away, besides the occasional well aimed phaser blast. She allowed the small ships to limp away without changing her orbit or contacting _Val Jean_.

Curious, Chakotay continued to monitor the situation. Energy pulses from the array rained down on the Ocampan world, irradiating the surface and any possible resources the planet might have held. Wondering if Torres, Paris and Kim would be forever trapped in the subterranean world, he knew they couldn't remain in the system very long. The window of opportunity for the Caretaker to send them home was rapidly closing, as were Kazon reinforcements.

Just why the Kazon's sensors didn't detect _Val Jean_ , Chakotay didn't know. The four raider class vessels came out of nowhere. Larger than the scouts, and better armoured, their weapons managed to dent _Voyager's_ shields on their first pass. It looked as though the larger ship was readying for evasive pattern Beta two when Chakotay considered joining the fight.

"Chakotay," Tom's voice suddenly erupted through the comm, "if you don't want your engineer back, that's fine by me. I have grounds to stick her in the brig for assaulting a Starfleet Officer and a witness to her crime. And that's where she'll stay until we get back to have her tried for treason."

"Beam Torres over now," all of the rage Chakotay had been holding in exploded and it was aimed at Commander Tom Paris.

"Sorry," the softer but gravelly voice of Voyager's Captain issued from the speaker, "can't drop shields at the moment. Maybe if you help us out, I might be able to arrange it once we reached the Array."

"Changing to attack pattern Delta four," came the order from the helm.

"I'll take the port," Chakotay knew the Starfleet playbook and how to play this manoeuvre. It took one pass to halt the attack. The comm line still open, Captain Paris set course for the array at warp seven and goaded him into following.

Hoping the Kazon hadn't sent reinforcements ahead of them, Chakotay had to be content with a minor victory. It seemed he'd get Torres back, in one piece and checked over by a Starfleet doctor. From the shiner on Commander Paris's rapidly swelling eye, it looked like his Engineer had gotten in a good one when she uncovered his duplicity. Although the minute B'Elanna stepped foot on _Val Jean_ , she'd be happy to tell everyone about the traitorous Nick Locarno.

 _If something happens_ , Chakotay theorised silently, _and the Caretaker either can't or won't send us home, if the Kazon get to the array first and destroy it, or if there's a battle and my ship is destroyed, life in the Delta quadrant won't be easy, especially if we end up on Voyager._


	10. Stuck

“Bring the weapons systems online,” the Captain barked, standing in the middle of her bridge. “Red alert. All hands to battle stations.”

Long range systems detected two Kazon ships hanging in the space before the array. Unwilling to subject her crew to further hostilities, Kathryn wanted to go into this skirmish armed and ready. It seemed Jabin had split his forces, sending a forward party to secure the advantage. Added to the situation, Captain Paris didn’t know if she could count on the Maquis to stand beside them in a fire fight. So far only the threat of withholding their Engineer seemed to motivate Chakotay to join them. That was about to change as B’Elanna Torres transported back to _Val Jean_ the moment they dropped out of warp.

Aware of changes in the Caretaker’s behaviour over the last few months, Maj Jabin wanted to secure the station for himself. He knew these newcomers possessed the technology and means to meet with the Caretaker on the array, something the Ogla had been attempting for years without success. Each time they came within a thousand kilometres of the entities home, it destroyed their ships and repulsed their attempts. Every incursion underground on the Ocampan world brought a swift and uncompromising reaction.

Yet, if the Talaxian was to be believed, these aliens had boarded the station and spoken with the Caretaker in person. They intended to return, forcing the entity to send them thousands of light years home. It proved the Caretaker was losing his authority and dominance in this sector. Coupled with the changes in the energy pulses, Jabin had every intention of winning this battle and securing the array, and its advanced technology for himself.

“The lead ship is hailing us, Captain,” Tuvok reported stoically.

At the operations station, Ensign Kim brought the image of Maj Jabin up at his Captain’s request.

“Leave,” the Maj demanded before Kathryn could utter a word. “You have entered Kazon-Ogla space.”

“All we care about is getting home, Jabin,” the Captain lost any patience with the man’s useless posturing. Although out-numbered, presently _Voyager_ and _Val Jean_ weren’t our gunned, or in any danger. “We're about to transport over to the Array…”

“I cannot permit that,” Jabin sneered. “You have challenged my authority, and I have no intention of letting anyone with your technological knowledge board the Array. It is in Ogla space and belongs to the Ogla.”

“They're powering up their weapons,” Tuvok announced a moment before the first of the Kazon blast hit _Voyager_ and the ship rocked. “I have a link with Mr. Chakotay.”

“Return fire,” the Captain retreated to her chair. “Evasive pattern, Alpha three. Aim for their weapons and propulsion. I want you to remain at the helm, Mr. Paris, and you have the bridge. I’m going to take Tuvok and beam over to the array. The sooner we find a way back to the Alpha quadrant, the happier everyone will be.”

In the battle that raged while _Voyager’s_ Captain and acting First Officer were on the array, _Val Jean_ was badly damaged. Understanding the smaller of the two vessels to be the weakest link, in armament, weapons and skill of the pilot, Jabin ordered his ships to concentrate their fire in that quarter. Although manoeuvrable for a ship of her size, _Voyager_ could not match the Kazon’s agility due to their smaller size. Nor could they protect the Maquis raider from a two-pronged attack with a larger class warship bearing down on them.

Understanding neither of them would make it back to the Alpha quadrant if they were both destroyed, Chakotay swore under his breath before suggesting to Paris, “neither of us has enough firepower to stop that new ship. My engines are damaged beyond even B’Elanna’s ability to repair them. I'm setting a collision course, but the guidance system is disabled. I'll have to pilot the ship manually. Torres is getting the crew ready to beam to _Voyager_.”

“I’ll have the shields dropped on Torres’s mark,” Tom agreed, his hands not stopping while one of the Kazon raiders turned their attention towards his ship. He didn’t need to tell Rollins at tactical to direct _Val Jean’s_ crew into a secure area under heavy guard. The compliment of _Voyager_ might be inexperienced but they were not reckless. Everyone understood the loss of the Maquis vessel meant trouble and few would forgive them for hiding during the first Kazon attack. “The transporter chief is keeping a lock on you, Chakotay.”

Added to his issues, the Captain comm’ed, requiring more time on the array to achieve her mission. Swearing under this breath, Tom did the best he could to keep _Voyager’s_ weapons and shields operational as the main Kazon Vessel concentrated its fire on the phaser array. Chakotay finally took out the largest of the three ships but the resulting trajectory took the craft directly towards the Caretaker’s array causing a massive collision that altered the stations position.

As Chakotay beaned into the confinement area with his crew, a lucky shot shorted out _Voyager’s_ phaser ring on deck five. The Ensign at engineering attempted to get them back on line while the two smaller ships continued to buzz _Voyager_ top side, weakening their shield but not causing more than minor damage.

Finally, Captain Paris and Lt. Commander Tuvok appeared on the bridge. The expression on Kathryn’s face told a story, one few could misinterpret. When she ordered tricobolt torpedos armed and launched at the array, destroying the Caretaker and any chance of returning to the Alpha quadrant, Jabin declared _Voyager_ his sworn enemy and limped away with both raiders following behind. 

“What the hell am I supposed to do now,” Kathryn flopped onto the couch in her quarters several hours later. It had taken the remainder of her energy to get though the de-briefings and start on the minor repairs need to keep her ship battle ready.

They’d retained warp capability. Currently Ensign Baytart manned the helm and was following a course to a small M class planet in a system four and a half light years toward home. It would take them twelve hours to reach their destination. The Kazon limped away with their remaining vessels in the opposite direction. The Maquis were confined to a lounge on deck four under heavy guard. Everything had been taken from the room when they objected to their incarceration, including the replicator. The ring leaders were secured in the brig and proving rather indignant at being treated differently to their fellow Maquis.

“I don’t see you have any choice,” Tom came up behind his wife. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he started to work the knots out of the muscles. “You can’t keep Chakotay and his crew confined for seventy-five years and _Voyager_ doesn’t have the resources to keep thirty people on board who aren’t actively working to get us back to the Alpha quadrant. They’ve already practically destroyed the lounge on deck four.”

“Which leaves?” Kathryn sighed, placing her hands over her husbands. Turning to face him, she wrestled with the decision. She didn’t want to think about the repercussion. “Either I invite them to become part of this crew, or set them down on an uninhabited class M planet to live out their natural lives. Seven women and twenty-three men. How long do you think they’d last before all the rules of society broke down into chaos?”

“Your forgetting their resident Klingon,” Tom smirked. “B’Elanna would have them whipped into shape, or beat them into submission within a week.”

“Quite a shiner you managed to acquire, Mr. Paris,” Kathryn chuckled, reaching up to touch the still black, swollen eye, “on your return from the Ocampan World. I don’t know why you didn’t let the EMH treat you?”

“Let’s just say,” Tom smirked, happy to see his wife relaxed, even if just for a moment, “it was the lesser of two evils. The way everything’s occurred, B’Elanna will see it as defending her honour and we might just be able to use this event to get her on side. I’m not saying it will be easy, but she’s the linchpin in the Maquis engineering section. Besides, I still have that dermal regenerator I lifted from your office if you really want to fix me up.”

“Hoping I’d offer,” she laughed easily. However, Kathryn’s pensiveness returned, “After meeting Ms. Torres, I’m surprised she stopped at one punch.”

“Ensign Kim and Torres seem to have developed a solid friendship during their incarceration on Ocampa,” Tom shrugged his shoulders easily. “He’ll be a good influence on B’Elanna, if,” pausing, Commander Paris appeared, “you invite the Maquis to become part of this crew. I’d be encouraging that relationship.”

“Where will that leave you, Tom,” Kathryn asked, obviously worried. “I’ve seen the animosity Chakotay levels at you, especially when he thinks my back is turned. When I met with him after I destroyed the array, he wasn’t at all pleased. The rest of his crew will take their lead from him.”

“I’ll live,” Paris smirked once again. “My wife is this really scary woman. I’m afraid to cross her and when the Maquis get to know her, they will be too.”

“Can you ever be serious,” Kathryn rolled her eyes.

“Occasionally,” he responded, leaning in and planting a kiss on her left cheek. Pulling back, he watched the glint in her eye soften. Caressing the other cheek with is lips, this time Kate growled low in her throat. “Tonight, is not one of those times. Come on Kate, this decision will look better in the morning with a good night’s sleep.”

“I get the feeling sleep is the last thing on your mind, Mr. Paris,” she teased.

“Caught, Mrs. Paris,” he snickered, standing suddenly. Picking up his wife, Tom carried her to their bedroom.

“Tuvok to Captain Paris.”

“You have a lousy sense of timing,” Tom muttered under his breath, allowing Kate to slip to the floor. “What happened to privacy in our quarters?”

Quelling his protests with a look, the Captain answered the hail.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, Captain,” Tuvok managed to keep his voice neutral, however it seemed contrite at the same time. “Mr. Chakotay is demanding to speak with you. He wishes to know what your intention are with regard to his crew and why they are not being treated in accordance with Starfleet protocol.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Tom whined, although quietly enough so only his wife heard. “I think the Maquis can stew for a few hours, Kate. Trust me, this is a ploy.”

Giving him a look that said, his or yours, Tom became truly angry. Pulling away from his wife, he transformed into the consummate officer. “Tuvok, the Captain and I will meet you in her ready room to discuss the tactical issues associated with Mr. Chakotay’s demands.”

“Understood,” the Vulcan stated, yet there seemed to be a quality in his voice that comprehended the predicament he’d placed the remainder of the command team in. “Bridge out.”

“Tom,” Kathryn understood she’d hurt her husband, it shone in his blue eyes.

“Not here, Captain,” he spat. “I refuse to discuss this matter in my quarters. They are the private domain of myself and my wife.”

Nodding, Captain Paris preceded her husband from the room. “Well,” she demanded, seated behind her desk in the ready room. The act of being in this space created a distinction in her mind, one she needed to retain with the fury still lacing Tom’s orbs.

“If the saturation were reversed,” Tom announced in an icy professional voice, “you would be doing the same as Chakotay. He’s worried about his people and want’s an immediate resolution but a secondary motivation as to be upsetting _Voyager’s_ routine. That’s the Maquis way. Don’t allow your enemy to regroup, keep at them until they break. As to his crew, there are several I wouldn’t trust as far as the nearest airlock. They’ll be egging Chakotay on.”

“Seska,” Captain Paris stated, remembering their conversation with regard to the Bajoran woman.

“Suder, Dalby, Torres,” Tom added, “just to name a few. Each has their personal reasons for hating either or both the Federation and Cardassian’s. Most of the crew wouldn’t have the ability or knowledge to mount a mutiny but would actively participate. Torres is your real problem. If she got loose, B’Elanna could cripple this ship in a matter of minutes with access to the Engineering systems. The others are just malicious and wouldn’t care how much damaged they did to critical components. If they managed to get Chakotay on side, he has ten years’ experience on starships, four as a first officer before taking up his position teaching advanced tactics at the Academy campus on Furgus IV. He could be a very dangerous man, especially if pushed to the limit by the likes of Seska.”

“Suggestions,” the Captain demanded.

Tuvok merely allowed one eyebrow to rise before directing his gaze to Commander Paris.

“Give Chakotay the choice, stay as a Starfleet Officer with some responsibility, especially over his people or be off loaded at the class M planet,” Tom shrugged easily. “Then give them the night to consider it. If they stay, Chakotay has command experience and I understand if you don’t trust him, but you’re going to need him to keep his people in line. Courted properly, he could be an asset and compliment the command team. Torres would be better with her energies engaged in the Engine room. Once she feels that the Warp and Impulse systems are hers, she’ll develop a sense of belonging and her loyalty to those engines won’t be questioned, even by the other Maquis. Ayala, under Tuvok’s direction will make a good security officer. Keeping Ayala and Chakotay close gives us insight into the mood of the Maquis and how there behaving. I’m not saying it will be easy or pleasurable, learning to live together, but it fills the crew shortage. Otherwise, we equip them with the basics, enough to build a life and dump them on the nearest habitable planet.”

“Without replicators or transporters,” Captain Paris sighed, placing her thumb and forefinger on the bridge of her nose to offset the coming headache. She couldn’t allow any Alpha quadrant technology in case the Kazon uncovered the fledgling colony. “We can’t afford to leave a shuttle. What kind of life is that?”

“Life on _Val Jean_ was **_not_** pleasant,” Tom stated acidly. While he didn’t want to cause his wife pain, it was time she understood the truth. The Maquis were desperate people in an even more desperate fight with few resources. “There were few luxuries. The replicators were off line more often than they were on. We practically lived on ration bars. Energy was regulated with illumination often at less than twenty-five percent in all non-critical areas and barely above half even in those. I went days without a sonic shower, especially after a Cardassian attack. Everything went into repairs and keeping that ship functioning. Believe me, this crew could learn a lot from the Maquis when our resources dwindle.”

“Can they be trusted not to sabotage _Voyager_ ,” Tuvok asked.

“No,” Tom responded quickly and easily. “I give it three months before at least someone attempts a mutiny or tries to contact the Kazon to sell Federation technology.”

“I recall,” Kathryn remembered a conversation a few days previously in this very room, “you said they are fanatics with no discipline and not suitable for employment on any vessel.”

“Beggars,” Tuvok added wisely, “cannot be choosers, Captain. Engineering is down six crew, we have no medical staff beyond the Emergency Medical Hologram. It would be possible to pair a Maquis crew member with Starfleet until they are able to demonstrate a level of proficiency and trust to earn their positions.”

“I don’t like it,” Kathryn shook her head, “but understand the need.” Sighing, she turned her grey eyes on Tom. “Would you accompany me, Commander, to speak with Mr. Chakotay and his crew. I believe, what is your archaic term, taking the bull by the horns, might prove more efficient and let me get back to my quarters and the semblance of a private life.”

“Yes, Captain,” Tom answered. His tone continuing to hold resentment.

Sending him a quelling look, they left the ready room together. The walk to deck four proved frosty. Unable to hold in her anger, Kathryn turned on the man beside her, forcing him into an empty corridor. “Enough, I expect more from you, Commander.”

“Understood, Captain,” Tom returned, however there was a very subtle softening in his gaze.

Making one of her famous snap decisions, Kathryn pulled Tom further into the quiet hallway where she knew they wouldn’t be disturbed. “We can’t keep being at each-other’s throats like this,” she declared.

“I haven’t seen you in six months Kate,” Tom took the opening. Watching the colour in his wife’s eyes change, every so subtlety, he knew her frustration matched his. “Forgive me if I want a single evening alone with my wife.”

“You know as well as I do, a Captain is always on duty,” Kate managed. There was fire and passion mixing in her glare. “Especially in a situation like this.”

“A situation like this is even more reason,” Tom parroted while making his point crystal clear. Kate had laid down the law when he first came on board _Voyager_. He was about to make his own demands equally understandable. “To find a dividing line between your personal and professional life, Kate. I understand you need to draw the distinction between Captain and wife and that the former is going to win more often than the latter. There are times I’m going to have to accept second place in your life and I’m good with that. But this, we’re allowing the Maquis to come between us before they have even decided if they want to join your crew. What happens next time Chakotay demands you dance to his tune? Or we disagree professionally about how to handle them. We can’t let this come between you and I.”

“I know.” Sighing, at this moment, Kathryn Paris was tired. More fatigued than she ever considered. Added to that, she’d hoped to tell Tom about the surprise awaiting them in the Alpha quadrant so he understood their personal need to get home within the next five years. “Let’s get this interview out of the way, together. Then I have every intention of returning to my quarters.”

Holding out a hand, Tom laced his wife’s smaller fingers within the warmth of his. “A show of solidarity,” he grinned, tightening his hold.

“Exactly,” Kathryn offered, unable to keep a grin off her face. It was times like this her husband’s insufferable childishness managed to get through her tough exterior. “I need you to always stay the same Tom Paris I married.”

“I have for the last ten years,” he teased easily, “I have no intention of stopping any time soon.”

With that, Thomas Paris pulled his wife firmly against him. Understanding they would only have a few minutes alone, he moulded her body to his. One hand crept up to her tight bun but left it in the Captain’s professional coiffure. It gave him the purchase to tilt Kate’s head to just the right angle for his lips to caress hers. Their kiss turned both intimate and passionate within seconds. It ended just as quickly.

“Chakotay won’t know what hit him,” Tom mocked, changing moods rapidly and practically dragging his wife from their moment of solitude.

“You don’t have to enjoy belittling the man, Tom,” it was the Captain who answered.

“I worked with Chakotay for six months. Trust me, Kate, he wouldn’t expect anything less,” Tom grinned. “Besides, if I change my personality, he’ll think he has gotten under my skin. It’s the last thing I want any of the Maquis to believe.”


	11. Show Down

“So,” Kathryn drawled, secretly watching her husband out of the corner of her eye, their hands still linked much to the surprise of several crew members they passed on their stroll towards the officer’s lounge on deck four, “how are we going to play this.”

“Good cop, bad cop,” Tom answered with a wicked twinkle in his azure blue eyes while his tone remained completely serious.

“Another twentieth century colloquialism, Mr. Paris?” The Captain finally pulled her hand away as they approached the hallway leading to the Maquis’s current holding cell.

As always, Tom’s mind rarely remained on a linier trajectory, often diverging onto a tangential theory. Years of marriage allowed Kathryn to understand there was more behind the benign words. Her husband considered the data he’d collected on each and every Maquis member during his sojourn, currently turning it over in his mind. He was looking for a way to keep his acquaintances and therefore a source of information open and available without further betraying their trust.

“You know me too well,” the Commander mocked. A sly glance and Tom knew Kate understood his motivation. “I suggest you do all the talking and let me stand at your side, injecting the occasional comment the Maquis would expect.”

“So, I’m the bad cop,” Kathryn considered the idea. Her husband’s love of all things from that ancient time period meant she didn’t need to ask what a Cop was or his meaning in relation to the Maquis.

“If you want me to have any chance of bringing B’Elanna around,” Tom turned solemn, “or any of the Maquis I befriended, I need to stay as neutral as possible and re-earn their trust. At some point, the crews will have to learn to tolerate each other.”

“We’ll discuss those issues,” the Captain stated, her tone becoming hard as she slipped completely into professional mode, “if the Maquis decide to stay. Right now, I need to prepare for whatever tricks Mr. Chakotay might have up his sleeve. I don’t want to be blindsided.”

“Touché,” Tom smirked at his wife’s use of slang. “Believe me, desperate men live by their wits. Chakotay’s anger at me is your leverage point, Kate. I’ll keep him off guard, you need to use the openings I give you.”

Captain and Commander Paris fell into a comfortable silence the moment they noticed the security team of four, armed with wide dispersal phaser rifles, guarding the room containing the Maquis. Allowing one eyebrow to rise in an imitation of her Vulcan Tactical Officer, Kathryn communicated her disquiet at the need for such a show of force. Entering, she waved aside Crewman Hanna as Tom placed a hand in the middle of her back, both as a display of unity and for moral support. If they were going to face the Maquis, they would do it without an overt show of force. Mr. Chakotay and his motley crew had to understand Commander Paris was loyal to both is Captain and Starfleet first, but still able to appreciate the Maquis perspective. Tom chose to walk a dangerous line, placing his personal safety in jeopardy, in the hope the rewards would be worth the effort.

“Mr. Chakotay,” the Captain managed to throw her voice over the loud din within the room. Waiting until the noise level dropped as the people began to acknowledge her presence, Kathryn offered, “I believe you wished to speak with me about your current situation.”

“There is nothing you could have to say to me,” the Maquis leader stated in a dry, almost mocking tone, his body language confrontational, “that my crew shouldn’t hear, after all, this involves all of us.”

“I expected nothing less of you, Chakotay,” Tom smiled disarmingly, spreading his hand on his wife’s back. He wanted her to understand the Maquis Captain’s tactics while working the room with his eyes to capture as many of his previous shipmates who might still regard his acquaintance as tolerable.

Kathryn straightened to her full height without shrugging off the intimate contact. “In your position, I would do the same,” she allowed easily, although her eyes told another story completely. “I have nothing to hide from your people, Mr. Chakotay. As you have pointed out, we are all in this situation together.”

“Then why are we being kept in this room,” Chakotay demanded, looking around accusingly. All the furniture had been removed, leaving nowhere to sit. In place of the replicator, an empty channel in the bulkhead stood mockingly. Sleeping matts littered the floor. They looked to be well used, although each of the twenty-seven Maquis inhabiting the large room currently stood. Against the back wall, the door to the heads and sonic showers remained open, affording little privacy. “This does not meet Federation policy when restraining prisoners.”

“Are you suggesting you are prisoners?” Kathryn replied disarmingly.

“The guards at the door with phaser rifles are a dead giveaway,” Chakotay fired back.

“That’s because three of your crew attempted to destroy my ship and cause a mutiny,” the Captain responded with more than a little heat in her tone. “Seska, Chell and Oden will remain in the brig until they come up on charges. So far, those three are the only prisoners, and will remain confined to the brig.”

“Your brig isn’t big enough to hold thirty people,” Chakotay stated sardonically. Neither opponent took the statement lightly. It might be considered a prediction of things to come.

“Not comfortably,” Captain Paris responded in the same tone, shrugging her shoulders easily, “or, at least, not as comfortably as this room. A change of environment can be easily arranged, if you wish to be accorded the full hospitality as regards to Federation policy concerning terrorist.”

“Have you been fed?” Tom warily asked, sending a sideways glance at his wife. Commander Paris didn’t like the direction of this conversation. Threatening Chakotay’s people, even subtly, wouldn’t end well. Tom’s sudden and disarming question was aimed into the room. The half dozen people who met his gaze nodded. That gave him more information than Chakotay would care to offer. He still had friends among the crew that would keep their loyalty to their Captain, but extend Tom the curtesy he’d always shown them. “Better than ration bars, I hope,” his tone implied humour and reinforced their shared experiences on board _Val Jean_.

“What’s it to you, Paris?” B’Elanna growled from the back of the room. Pushing through the men and women blocking her way, she came to stand beside Chakotay in much the same manner as the command couple. She hadn’t missed the fact he still sported the black eye she’d given him on Ocampa and it brought a feral smile to her lips.

“I served six months with you, Torres,” Tom aimed his answer solely at the half Klingon. “You know me. I never once lied to you, even about being married.”

Somewhat surprised by this information, Kathryn worked hard to ignore the urge to face her husband, instead continuing to watch the telling reactions on Chakotay’s. The Maquis didn’t miss Tom’s barb, as the sudden rise in the noise level proved. It seemed the comment sparked interest in Chakotay, Torres and the relationship between them. Captain Paris understood her husband’s tactic. He’d driven a subtle wedge between the Maquis Captain and his second officer, one she could exploit if necessary.

“You’re a Pig, Paris,” B’Elanna almost spat, her anger rising. After returning to _Val Jean_ , she’d been happy to tell everyone the truth about Nick Locarno and his allegiance. Crossing her arms in an obvious sign of self-protection, the woman’s glare could have wounded. The similarity between the Maquis Engineer and Starfleet Captain wasn’t lost on many in the room.

“You’ve called me worse, Torres,” Tom smiled at her disarmingly, his fingers lightly touching his still dark and swollen eye, “and for a lot less. I’m sorry I don’t meet your current expectations but I am glad you’ve returned from your adventure on Ocampa.”

The Maquis crew didn’t flinch at the teasing, demonstrating the level of friendship and, in Captain Paris’s estimation, her husband’s approval of the woman. Yet, Kathryn couldn’t allow the distraction to continue. In her estimation, Chakotay was about to take advantage of Tom’s misdirection.

“Mr. Paris,” Kathryn rebuked the man at her side. It was time to play the bad cop, “that will be enough.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he nodded and became silent.

“Let me make **_my_** position crystal clear,” Captain Kathryn Paris’s tone turned frosty. She was determined that it echoed throughout the room for everyone to hear, yet her perceptive grey gaze narrow to the Maquis leader. “You and your people have two choices, Mr. Chakotay. The first, agree to join my crew as full and active members under Starfleet rules and regulations. I understand Mr. Ayala and Ms. Torres have Academy training and might be considered for provisional officer status. The rest will be paired with a Starfleet personnel until they can prove an understanding and proficiency of protocol, procedure and level of trust to work without supervision.”

Chakotay attempted to break into her monologue. Captain Kathryn Paris simply held up a hand and used her deadly grey eyes to stare him down. It had the desired effect, the sudden eruption of noise in the room settled. It seemed they understood she hadn’t finished nor would she brook any opposition.

“I’m not interested in rebuttal, Mr. Chakotay,” Kathryn’s voice became deathly quiet and her glare continued to address the Maquis leader, “or negotiation. Let me make one thing crystal clear. On this ship, I’m the only **_Captain_**.”

At her side, Commander Paris knew that tone. It was one even he wouldn’t argue with as his posture suddenly became ramrod straight. Tom did, however, allow an ironic smirk to cover his lips. The Commander in Paris appreciated that his wife could be a very scary woman, capable of making the hard decisions and sticking to them. Chakotay and his crew needed to know she meant business.

“Your second choice,” Kathryn Paris continued. “I will give you the supplies required to live on the nearest class M planet which is four light years away. Due to the Kazon-Ogla in the area, I will not be able to leave replicators, transporters or a shuttle for your use. You have until the morning to come to a unanimous decision. Any dissention will not be tolerated. Good night.”

With that Kathryn nodded to her husband. Tom understood completely and escorted her to the door. Tapping her com badge before exiting the room, she had one more item on her list. An item to let both the Maquis and her crew understand Commander Paris was under her direct chain of command, both personally and professionally in this most unusual situation.

“Captain to the bridge,” she barked, standing in the open doorway. The security team pretended not to hear the communication. The Maquis weren’t so reserved, actively listening for any chink in either Paris’s armour.

“Aye, Captain,” Tuvok answered.

“Commander Paris and I are retiring for the night. Only contact me if we go to red alert,” she barked out the order. “Captain out.”

As the door closed behind her, Kathryn smirked. “I think that went rather well.”

Unable to formulate an answer, Tom simply walked beside his wife. He knew better than to challenge her assumptions or guess the outcome of her ultimatum. Personally, he thought Chakotay and his crew would be incredibly short sighted in choosing to set up a new colony. They’d die out in a single generation, if the Kazon didn’t get them first. Dependant on the outcome, Commander Tom Paris knew he’d need to speak with Tuvok and devise a plan to counteract the mutiny that was sure to occur in the next months.

Tapping his own com badge, he said, “Paris to Tuvok.”

“Yes, Commander,” the Vulcan’s tone sounded almost annoyed.

“Can we schedule a meeting in your office tomorrow. I think we need to consider the wider ramifications of incorporating the Maquis into our crew rosters before it occurs,” Tom stated carefully. The Tactical Officer would understand his meaning. In fact, they’d spoken about this situation and the possible repercussions in Kate’s ready room before their showdown with the Maquis.

“I agree,” Tuvok responded. “Fourteen hundred hours, in the Security Office, when I return to duty. Tuvok out.”

“You can’t say he minces his words,” Tom joked.

“No,” Kathryn agreed, followed by a heavy sigh. Her position as the Captain never ended. “Something I should know about?”

“Not at the moment,” Tom sobered suddenly. Placing his hand in the middle of his wife’s back was a signal. Commander Paris was uneasy and needed to bounce ideas off his Captain while craving the physical touch of his spouse. “I think we need to be prepared for a mutiny. Tuvok and I will go over every possibility and report to you once we’ve finished our analysis.”

“I guess,” Kathryn broke into Tom’s thoughts as they stepped off the turbolift on deck three, “working on the same ship again, it’s back to me using my rank as a call sign.”

“I can see Paris to Paris getting old,” Tom smirked, remembering the first time it occurred on _Olympia._ They’d weathered some good-natured teasing before agreeing to Kathryn responding to Commander, letting the junior officer use his surname.

“It’s just as well,” Kathryn smiled easily, looking up into the blue eyes of her husband. Eyes that were becoming more intense with every step, “I prefer being called Captain.”

“So, **_Captain_** , looks like we’re home.” Waggling his eyebrows suggestively, Tom knew what would happen the moment they stepped through the door into their quarters. After their argument and the intensely dissatisfying emotions it caused earlier in the evening, added to the fact they’d only spent a few hours privately in the last three days, they needed to reconnect in a very intimately private manner.

Keying in her code, Kathryn Paris felt her husband’s body against hers as they waited for the door to open. Before it closed completely, Tom had her pinned to the wall, his hands making quick work of relieving their uniforms of their com badges. He took the time to place them on the glass table, something she’d insisted on early in their co-habitation when she’d been com’ed by _Olympia’s_ Captain and unable to find a way to answer discreetly.

“You’re wearing too much,” Tom’s hoarse voice whispered into her ear while his hands stripped first her jacket and then her turtle neck from her body.

Placing her hands between them and finding purchase on his chest, Kathryn Paris pushed the man away from her. “Strip,” she ordered. If she let Tom distract her, their coupling would be over far too soon for her liking. She’d felt her husband’s desperate need with his body pressed against her own. She had every intention of taking care of that before allowing him to make love to her.

Understanding dawned. Tom Paris wasn’t a fan of felacio but knew it served a purpose. When Kate offered, the intention was a warning. A warning she wanted him to treat her like her favourite china tea cup, with gentle, loving hands, savouring the contents slowly and allowing her to enjoy every sensation. The way he felt at this moment, he knew he wouldn’t last long. Determined fingers stroked him even while Tom attempted to undress. Pushing him towards the bedroom, he crashed onto the soft surface while kicking off his boots, the last of his clothing finally hit the floor. When her lips met his turgid flesh, his mind couldn’t stop his words. They were a mixture of begging and loving.

“Get up here, woman.” Laying replete in the middle of their bed, Kate climbed on top of him. Skin to skin, he knew it would take some time to become completely aroused again. However, Tom Paris was going to enjoy the journey and ensure his wife had little to complain about.

“I know,” Kathryn started blandly, “you didn’t get your contraceptive shot before starting your assignment and you haven’t been to sickbay since arriving on _Voyager_.”

Flipping them over so they faced each other, Tom understood her fear. “We made love yesterday, Kate. It’s a little late to be thinking about the consequences now. Besides, we can both go and get treated tomorrow.”

“Tom,” her voice turning grave, Kathryn knew the time had come to tell him about their son.

Looking at his wife, he suddenly understood. It was the reason she’d taken care of his needs before addressing this issue. It had been almost six months since they’d spent that weekend between his training and leaving for his current mission, most of it in their bed. Yet, Kate was not pregnant and couldn’t have been more than three months pregnant before he left. Their time together intimate, constantly touching or spooning, even while they slept meant Tom would have seen the signs. They’d experienced two early pregnancies, both causing Kate to feel listless and fatigued within weeks of missing her first period.

“I didn’t get my last shot,” she confessed, a hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “It didn’t seem worth it with our plans. The weekend you came home, I conceived our son.”

Sitting up abruptly, it hit him. They’d lost another chance to become parents. Out here, so far away from home, they couldn’t take the chance. Already they’d made enemies and this was no place to bring up a child. “I’ll go and see the EMH,” he offered, starting toward the edge of the mattress.

“Stop, Tom,” Kathryn scooted across the surface to sit beside her husband. “He’s safe, in an artificial womb at Starfleet medical.”

His eyes locked onto hers. The expression, one of stunned delight. Yet those same orbs asked how and why.

“Two weeks after you left,” Kathryn started, her gaze pleading with him not to interrupt, “I got my period. It was light but you know how busy we’d both been. I didn’t think anything of it, well maybe I was disappointed.”

“You wanted to be pregnant,” Tom looked confused and hopeful at the same time.

“I wanted to make sure I had something of my husband,” she clarified, “in case he never came home. I knew how dangerous your mission was going to be so I had my contraceptive reversed while you were on Earth training. I hoped it might happen on that weekend. Two weeks later I threw up and I knew. I headed straight for Earth and had it confirmed. A week later I had our son transferred to an artificial womb. I didn’t want to take the chance, Tom.”

“Shh,” he soothed, cradling her in his warm embrace. “After losing two, I understand. Where is he now, Kate and how much time do we have?”

“Five years,” she didn’t hesitate, nor did the tears streaming down her cheeks. “We have to be home, or at least in contact with Starfleet Medical within five years. If not, then your sister Elizabeth will raise him. She and Gerric found out they can’t have children because of his genetic diversity.”

Nodding his understanding, he knew there was a lot more she needed to say. Guiding them back onto the mattress, Tom spooned his wife carefully. Waiting, he was finally rewarded as the entire story came out.

“The containment unit for the artificial womb was small enough for me to wear strapped to my abdomen until he was twelve weeks.” Taking Tom’s hand, Kathryn placed it on her flat belly, allowing them both to imagine what it would have been like to feel their child growing and developing internally. “I wanted our son to feel my heartbeat and hear my voice. I made sure he came everywhere with me. After that, I gained permission to keep our son in our quarters until he reached nineteen weeks. I had to agree to constant monitoring and weekly check-ups. Then Voyager’s trials started. I couldn’t risk taking him with me, so I had him placed in stasis.”

“We’ll get back, Kate,” Tom promised.

“Love me,” she asked.

“I always have,” he managed a sad smile, “and I always will.”

There were no words between them after that. What followed was the gentlest exploration of each other, filled with touches that communicated all they could not say. The words would come later. Now they needed to appreciate and reconnect on the most basic level.

“Tom,” Kathryn murmured as he once again spooned her in his loving arms. “I love you.”

“Go to sleep, Kate,” he smiled into her red locks, unable to find the energy to even kiss her, “and I love you too. I have no intention of ever stopping.”


	12. Show Down

“You knew?” Chakotay demanded of his half Klingon engineer.

The rest of _Val Jean’s_ crew watched on, stunned that their leader turned on Torres the moment Captain and Commander Paris left the room. Obviously Chakotay’s anger was misdirected when he was so evidently mad at Nick Locarno, the man who’d become his friend and trusted first officer but turned out to be a Federation plant. They all were. However, few would take out their feelings so publicly on the temperamental Engineer. B’Elanna could hold her own, physically and verbally, even with Chakotay.

“Knew what?” Torres returned just as frustrated, hands going to her hips as a dangerous glint entered her darkening eyes.

“That Locarno, or should I say Paris, was married,” Chakotay stated acidly.

“It came up. He said his wife was a friend of his sister, that’s how they met,” B’Elanna shrugged, unable to understand why Chakotay was making such a big deal of this. “I’m not the only one who talked to him, or considered him a friend, or realised he wasn’t the cocky pilot he pretended to be. I didn’t punch him because he was married. I punched that petaQ for lying about his identity, for making a fool out of me.”

“Nicolas Locarno is an only child,” the Maquis Captain responded angrily. “If you’d thought to tell me, we might have uncovered his true allegiance earlier.”

“So, this is my fault,” Torres spat, giving her friend a death stare. Her breast heaving, B’Elanna was working hard to keep her temper in check. “If you had your mind on the job, he might have told you.” The accusation that Chakotay had been too busy bedding Seska suddenly stood between them. The entire crew now understood the reason why the friendship between Paris and Torres started, he’d proved to be safe. “Despite everything, even punching him in the face, Loc…Paris hasn’t lied to me.”

“Then you knew,” Chakotay became incensed, “he was a Starfleet spy?”

“I knew,” Torres’s anger changed to self-loathing as she analysed her own feelings, “that he wasn’t as caught up in the cause as we were, that he was too Starfleet to ever really fit in. I didn’t know he was Intelligence!”

“But you’d started to suspect,” Chakotay accused.

“Arguing amongst ourselves,” Mike Ayala cut into the all-encompassing atmosphere of hostility that pervaded every molecule in the room, “only serves their purpose of tearing us apart when we need to stick together. It doesn’t matter what we think of Paris. Truth is, the man served his purpose, both on _Val Jean_ and for the Federation. He did his duty and preformed it well. Can we trust him? He got Torres back from the Ocampa. Do I trust him? More than the rest of the Fleeter’s on this ship but less than my fellow Maquis. Can we use him? That’s what we need to uncover, especially with his marriage to the Captain.”

Sighing, although still internally seething, Chakotay nodded his head in agreement. The tactician in him understood Mike Ayala’s perspective and knew he’d be a good choice for first officer if they ever got back to the Alpha quadrant. It seemed this situation displayed his unique talents as time on _Val Jean_ never had.

“Personally,” Chakotay muttered, “I’d rather take my chances on _Voyager_ than wait for the Kazon to find us. It seems the lesser of two evils.”

“I came from a colony world,” B’Elanna reminded the group, gaining their attention with her obvious distain for settling on any planet. “There were over four hundred specialists with a ship full of equipment in the initial colonisation wave. The settlers followed three years later when the first town and fields had been established. That planet hasn’t been properly scanned, its resources catalogued or the best position for settlement determined. We’ll never make it past the first winter with only thirty of us, let alone survive long term. _Voyager_ doesn’t have enough reserves to spare and we don’t have the population to last more than one or two generations, if the natives don’t get us first.”

“So, we stay?” Hogan asked, confused, his gaze going from the Captain to the Engineer and back again. It seemed this decision had brought them back together.

“I’m not working under Starfleet regulations,” Dalby spat. He’d hated Locarno but serving on this ship might just give him the opportunity to get back at the traitor. There might even be some of the Fleeter’s that would help. Intelligence officers, by their nature, were feared by the general crew of any ship.

“They couldn’t protect my wife’s home when the Cardassian’s destroyed it,” Mike Ayala seemed to be the only voice of reason. His words measured and even, his Academy training was finally shining through. Only Chakotay understood and had to keep back a secret smile as he uncovered what a fine Officer Ayala would have become. “I didn’t take up my first commission because of it, but I want to get home to see my sons and Marla. _Voyager_ is my only chance, so whatever the rest of you decide, I’m staying and playing by their rules.”

“I don’t trust them either,” added O’Donnell in a soft, thoughtful tone, “but there aren’t any Cardies out here and the options are limited. I want to get home, so I guess the only way is to join _Voyager’s_ crew.”

“What choice do we have,” Hogan chimed in. “Seska tried to do something and look what happened. She’s in the brig with Chell and Oden.”

The comment started the Maquis thinking. Gathering into smaller groups based on friendships, they discussed the merits of Captain Paris’s options. Of course, in the back of everyone’s minds were the ideas Seska planted. It wouldn’t be mutiny if they took over the ship, establishing Chakotay as the Captain and running _Voyager_ the Maquis way.

“It will never work,” Chakotay said, after allowing his crew to air their opinions, then calling for silence. “Taking over this ship is not an option. We’re out numbered three or four to one. They have weapons and the tactical advantage of knowing the schematics of this vessel. Besides, Tom Paris,” he almost spat the name, “knows the strengths and weaknesses of each and every one of us. He’ll be working with their security division to ensure we don’t have a chance to cause trouble.”

“How do you now that,” Gurren asked. Young and new to _Val Jean_ , he honestly wanted to know.

“I served as First officer on an Excelsior class ship for four years,” Chakotay responded. “Starfleet has procedures and protocols for every contingency. It’s the Tactical Officers job to anticipate trouble, avoid it where possible and plan counter measures if not. Added to that, Paris is an Intelligence operative. To reach even Lt. Commander, he would have at least ten years’ experience in the field. Believe me, Starfleet’s rules and regulations won’t have changed that much since I resigned my commission.”

“You can’t even breathe,” Torres added, remembering her time at the academy on Earth, “under the weight of their system. I didn’t want anything to do with Starfleet in San Francisco and I don’t want anything to do with them now.”

“Surely,” Ayala grinned, “the use of proscribed responses is something in our favour. You, Torres and I can anticipate Captain Paris’s next move by the constraints placed on her to follow the rules and regulations. All we have to do is act compliant and stay one step ahead of them. When the time comes, we act.”

“I’m with Mike,” Dalby called out. Several voices joined him in agreement.

“Is there anyone who objects?” Chakotay called to his crew. Although several people murmured with discontent, they understood the necessity and would follow their Captain. Loyalty among the Maquis was hard to come by, but in this situation, it proved to be all they had. “All right people, I’ll get security to inform Paris of our decision.”

“Yeh,” Jonas called out, “get her and that traitor Paris down here now. No need to let him rest.”

“We need to play this by their rules,” Ayala commented, his chocolate eye boring into the engineer, “if we have any hope of convincing them of our compliance.”

“We wait until tomorrow morning,” Chakotay agreed. “I want every one of you on your best behaviour. If you don’t think you can live with all the rules, come to Ayala or me. We’ll get you through until they trust us enough to let us work independently. We need to know this ship inside out before we try anything.”

“If I can get access to the systems in Engineering,” B’Elanna enthused before feeling torn. While she wanted Chakotay in charge, if anyone damaged those engines she’d make sure they looked a whole lot more beaten than Tom Paris.

“You will,” Chakotay grinned, understanding his Engineer’s expression and her emotions. “That goes for everyone in whatever part of the ship your assigned too. When we’re ready, I’m going to need each and every one of you to do the job Ayala, Torres and I set. Understood?”

Nodding, there were several people with stunned expressions on their faces. Everything was happening quickly. The Maquis had long ago learnt to adapt and survive against the greatest of odds. However, this challenge might just prove too much for some of his crew. Chakotay knew they’d never faced a situation quite like this one. Undisciplined and untrained with respect to Starfleet protocols, it would take months to bring them up to speed. Until he was ready, he needed his people to blend into this crew while he ingratiated himself into the command structure. If they were lucky, Torres might end up as the Engineering Chiefs offsider, if only she could control her Klingon temper. Chakotay knew they needed B’Elanna in a position of trust if any uprising was to be successful.

“I don’t like it,” Crewman Hanna whispered to his security partner. Half an hour had passed since Captain and Commander Paris exited the room and still there was only the occasional sound escaping the closed door.

“Me either,” Batty agreed, his gaze catching the other security officers knowingly.

“Their being too quiet,” frowned Ensign Smith, the only officer assigned to this detail, “almost as if they’re planning something. I think I’ll let Commander Tuvok know.”

“What do you think they’re going to do?” asked Tarcan. The only Orion on board _Voyager_ , he watched his superior walk a little way down the corridor before com’ing the Tactical officer for further orders.

“I bet they’ll stay,” Hanna shrugged his shoulders easily. “What choice do they really have? Would you want to be left in Kazon space on an unprotected and undeveloped planet?”

“I guess not,” Tarcan responded thoughtfully. “Which means, we need to watch their every move. I can’t see that lot fitting into this crew. It’s going to be a security nightmare for Commander Tuvok.”

“Those are problems for the senior staff to sort out,” Hanna smirked. “I sure wouldn’t like to be up before an inquiry board, trying to justify my reasons for offering, let alone accepting Maquis onto my ship when we get back to the Federation.”

Short staffed, the security team standing outside deck four’s officers lounge routinely pulled twelve-hour shifts. They were just being relieved as Captain Paris approached the door to the Maquis holding area the next morning. Not wishing to leave, or more likely, wanting to know what the Maquis decided, they waited until their commanding officer exited the room fifteen minutes later. A frown covered her face as she sighted the eight officers standing around casually. Captain Kathryn Paris knew what they were doing and why. Secretly she admired the loyalty Tuvok had built in his team.

“Mr. Hanna, Mr. Tarcan, I know you’re due to go off duty,” Kathryn smiled weakly at the two guards, while dismissing Smith and Batty with a nod. She’d deliberately chosen the two for their imposing size. “However, I would appreciate if you could accompany Mr. Chakotay and Mr. Ayala to my ready room in half an hour.”

“Aye, Captain,” the pair acknowledged, pleased.

Nodding in dismissal, they got their answer as the tiny woman tapped her com badge and called for the quartermaster to attend her ready room immediately. She was to bring a PADD with a list of the currently empty quarters and duty stations that required filling. It seemed, for better or worse, the Maquis were to become part of _Voyager’s_ crew.

Chakotay insisted on bringing Mike Ayala to the meeting with the Captain. Waiting for permission, it was given curtly before Hanna and Tarcan escorted the two Maquis towards the turbolift. As they waited for the doors to open, Commander Paris exited but remained close enough to hold the elevator, giving them a nod and smile.

“Hanna, Tarcan,” Tom offered politely before turning his attention to Chakotay and Ayala. “While you’re talking to the Captain,” he offered lightly, “I’ll be taking Torres on a tour of the Engine room.”

“Paris,” the warning tone was enough to make the younger man smile delightedly. Chakotay understood his methods. If B’Elanna thought she had a shot of being in charge of the warp core and impulse nacelles, her attention and loyalty would be fixed towards the inanimate objects. She could never condone anyone causing damage to her engine room.

Sauntering down the corridor after winking at Chakotay, Commander Tom Paris knew he’d affected the Maquis leader, which would help Kate in her negotiations. Like it or not, his wife’s emotions were held tightly just under the surface after their discussion last night. They had a long way to go, both in terms of distance and Kate forgiving herself for leaving their son behind. The former he had little doubt she would achieve by will power alone. The latter would take months of carefully controlled coddling by her devoted husband before she let go of her guilt.

Greeting the guards by name earnt Tom a surprised look as he signalled for the door to be opened. Once inside the room, Commander Paris was greeted by glares ranging from pure hatred to cautious regard. It seemed some remembered his time in the Maquis cordially. However, his next order might change the minds of those few who were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Torres,” Paris watched the tiny half Klingon make her way towards him, “you’re with me.”

“No,” B’Elanna hissed, taking up a hostile posture, “I’m not!”

“That’s a shame,” Tom smiled easily, his posture open and relaxed. Paris never changed his character on undercover missions, or pretended to be anyone but himself. It would be too easy to slip up and had the added potential of slightly confusing anyone who exposed his true identity. “I thought you might like to be sprung for a little tour of the Engine room.”

Regarding him warily, B’Elanna demanded, “why?”

“I’ll let you into a secret,” he mock whispered, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear, “you’re the best engineer I’ve ever met. That’s not a claim I make lightly, Torres. I’ve served on twelve vessels from four different organisations across both the Alpha and Beta quadrants.”

Making a sound in the back of her throat, which displayed her not wanting to be impressed by his words, B’Elanna continued to glare. However, such praise, coming from Loc…Paris actually meant something to her. Apart from his name, the man had never actually lied to her and that thought caused her internal morality to be challenged. Even now, he wasn’t treating her any differently to the way they interacted on _Val Jean_.

“ _Voyager’s_ short a Chief Engineer,” Tom continued easily, his blue eyes locking with hers to prove his sincerity. “I’ve put in a word with the Captain about your potential, especially as you kept those decrepit forty-year-old engines running without docking at a Starbase every six months.”

“If you think,” Torres suddenly stood straighter, cursing herself for the reaction at his praise, “Captain Paris would give me the position, even on your recommendation, you’re crazy.”

“You’re not losing anything,” Tom tormented, throwing out a challenge he knew Torres couldn’t refuse, “by accompanying me, B’Elanna.”

When Commander Paris exited the room, he waved off the security detail. Beside him B’Elanna’s face remained pensive. Tom could almost read her mind. If she didn’t have a retinue following her every move, it would be easy to create havoc and put the Maquis firmly in charge of _Voyager_. Commander Paris needed to disabuse her of that notion immediately.

“How,” he mocked, “will you get anything done in Engineering if there are two guards accompanying you all the time.”

“You’re serious about this, Paris?” she demanded. Looking at him, Torres stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.

“What is it with women,” he muttered under his breath, “wanting to stop and discuss things in public.” Grabbing her arm, he directed them towards the turbolift.

“Having problems with the wife already, Paris?” B’Elanna turned her humour on him.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Torres,” Tom fired back.

They continued the banter as the pair stepped into the turbolift and Tom called for deck eleven. Walking down the corridor, the vibe between them didn’t feel so different from the times they’d done the same on _Val Jean_. That ceased the moment the doors to Engineering opened. Gobsmacked, B’Elanna Torres almost had an orgasm. The warp core was a shade of blue she’d never seen, the matter/anti matter mix blended perfectly. Beneath her feet, Torres could feel the hum in perfect harmony proving the manifolds were aligned flawlessly. Each station worked, the displays easily readable as she walked past. She’d only ever dreamed of something this new and sophisticated.

Tom didn’t comment, he simply followed the young woman as she wandered further into the room. Nodding at Lt. Carey, the man joined them. He’d been briefed on the Commander’s plan. While he didn’t like the idea of a Maquis traitor heading up the Engine room, he’d seen the tactical advantage.

“It’s….” lost for words, B’Elanna’s chocolate gaze said all she couldn’t.

“This is Lt. Joe Carey,” Tom introduced. “Currently Mr. Carey is in charge down here. I thought you might like to discuss your experiences on _Liberty_ and _Val Jean_. How you kept those ancient engines running without down time and six-monthly overhauls.”

The look on Joe’s face could be considered comical under different circumstances. Here, in the middle of a quadrant seventy thousand light years from Earth, the reality of their situation was finally sinking in. The Engineer hadn’t considered more than immediate repairs. Before Lt. Carey could open his mouth, Torres fired several questions at him. Joe stuttered a response which quietly amused Paris. It seemed B’Elanna had observed more in the few minutes she’d walked around the department than Carey anticipated.

_It seems my little plan worked_ , he didn’t congratulate himself, at least not yet. Tom Paris still had to convince the Captain to make B’Elanna the Chief Engineer over Lt. Carey. _We need Torres on side, or at least not working against us to delay or supress any future uprising. I just have to convince Kate and Tuvok this is in our best interests, on multiple fronts._

“I have work to do,” Tom inserted into the conversation casually. Joe and B’Elanna were already arguing and for a moment both had stopped to draw breath. He didn’t want to understand the conversation about needing refined gallasite to line the warp coils within a few years, or converting a cargo hold into a processing plant for all manner of mineral treatment into a form they could utilise. They were using engineer’s terminology and it seemed to be creating a bridge between them. “I’m going to leave Torres in your capable hand’s Lieutenant. I suggest you learn to doge,” he touched his still swollen, although a little less black, eye. “Torres has a temper. B’Elanna, I meant what I said. If you have any chance of making these engines yours, you’re going to have to learn to deal with the engineering staff in a proscribed manner. Maquis tactics won’t work here. Assault another officer and you’ll do time in the brig.”

“Sir,” Joe swallowed, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of a traitor loose in his section. Especially one with a short temper and Klingon genes.

“I had operations install a punching bag in the Chiefs office,” Commander Paris used a mixture of cajoling and humour within his order, “I suggest you use it instead of Joe’s head, Torres. Play nicely, I’ll be back in an hour.”

With Lt. Carey’s jaw on the ground and B’Elanna’s knuckles almost white, Commander Tom Paris sauntered away, safe in the knowledge that when he returned the two would have formed the semblance of a working relationship. At least he hoped so. It would make his next stop that much easier and selling the idea of Torres as Chief Engineer more palatable to the Captain.


	13. Interigation

“Captain to Tuvok and Paris,” Kathryn ordered into her com badge, “report to my ready room.”

After leaving Torres in the more than capable hands, at least he hoped, of Joe Carey, Tom Paris found himself on his way to the bridge. He’d half expected the call from his wife, considering Chakotay and Ayala had been escorted to their meeting with the Captain a quarter of an hour ago. Arriving on deck one, Tuvok stood at his station. The fact the Vulcan waited for Paris before entering the Ready room spoke volumes. Both understood the implications of the Maquis decision and would meet later in the day to lay in plans for the mutiny they knew would eventuate.

“Commander,” Tuvok offered, stepping from behind his tactical console. Although the ranking officer, he preferred to remain on station unless forced into the Captain’s chair.

“Shall we,” Tom managed a smirk, indicating the Captain’s door.

The Vulcan had been on duty for the Alpha, Beta and start of the Gamma shift yesterday, allowing the Captain and Commander time alone overnight. It had been a concession that would need to be repaid, but not today or in the foreseeable future. There would be too much to organise in the coming weeks for any of the Command team to let their guard down.

Lt. Commander Tuvok and Commander Paris entering the Ready room together sent a message to the Maquis on multiple levels. Standing, the petite Captain indicated they should move through to the conference room via the rear corridor. Warrant Officer Holwort looked up from the pile of PADDs scattered on the table before her and frowned. While Greta prepared for the meeting, it didn’t mean she wanted the Maquis to join the crew.

“I suggest we settle in,” Kathryn ordered, taking the chair at the head of the table. “We have a lot of work to get through.” Once they were seated, the Captain turned her steely glare on everyone in the room. “We are here because the former Maquis crew have decided to join _Voyager_ under Starfleet rules and regulations. I intend to address the entire crew before the end of the current shift. However, this decision poses many and varied problems. The first is the choice of my Executive Officer.”

Pausing, the Captain caught the eye of Mr. Paris, Mr. Tuvok and finally Mr. Chakotay. The first smiled non-committedly. Tom had never wanted the post as Kathryn knew. She passed him over easily. Tuvok didn’t respond to the question in her gaze, which was an indication of his thoughts. She’d spoken with her long-time friend and confident prior to meeting with the Maquis. Gaining his perspective had been insightful. Finally, her scrutiny rested on Chakotay. If she didn’t miss her guess, or the straightening of the man’s spine, the former Maquis Captain was shocked to be considered. Now it was a possibility, hope burgeoned and his tacticians mind started working, which only proved Tuvok’s and Tom’s points.

_Keep your friends close_ , Kathryn recalled the Vulcan’s emotionless words, _but your enemies closer. I suggest you consider Mr. Chakotay as your best option. This will allow Mr. Paris and I to toil in the background. Together we can work quietly to ensure there is little discord leading to rebellion, from either crew._

_The man could be carefully courted_ , Tom warned before kissing his wife and leaving for his duty shift this morning. 

“Mr. Chakotay,” the Captain continued her calculating stare, “I understand you are the only person in this room to have held the position of Frist Officer on a Starfleet vessel.”

“Yes,” Chakotay offered easily, folding his hands onto the table before him and leaning forward. His body language gave away his interest, which caused Kathryn Paris to consider her husband’s information. “I served on the USS Lakota, an Excelsior Class vessel under Captain Jessa Gurt.”

“How long?” She enquired, opening her own body language to appear attentive. Kathryn Paris had read his file on the way to DS9 and memorised most of it.

“Six years, two as second bridge officer,” Chakotay responded, “four as first before taking up a teaching position on Furgus IV.”

“So, you have experience with crew rosters, morale, discipline, training and protocol,” Kathryn offered thoughtfully. “The question I have to ask, are you willing to work with me, Mr. Chakotay? You have experience and understand the bond that must exists between a Captain and her First Officer. Do you think you can put aside your allegiance to your people and make them our crew? Can I count on you, trust you, with my ship and it’s compliment?”

Chakotay wanted to look towards Mike Ayala, but dared not. This was more than he’d expected. Understanding Commander Paris wouldn’t be a good choice, the Maquis leader felt sure the position would fall to Tuvok. Then again, the Tactical officer might serve his Captain better by retaining his current role. The thoughts passed through Chakotay’s mind rapidly, yet as the second in command, he would know everything that occurred on _Voyager_ and be able to move freely around the ship. Further, he would come to know the rest of the Senior Officers intimately and be given Command codes.

“That depends, Captain,” Chakotay responded cautiously, “on how fairly any former Maquis are treated within the Starfleet structure. As you stated, both Torres and Ayala have Starfleet training.”

“Torres is currently in Engineering,” Tom spoke for the first time. His eyes flicked to his wife, hoping he had picked the correct time to bring up this subject. Commander Paris would be in trouble for taking this decision unilaterally. Still, it was obvious to him why Torres should be in charge of the ships propulsions systems. “I have the most senior officer showing B’Elanna the engines with the aim of convincing the Captain she is the best candidate for Chief.”

Chakotay’s eyes bulged, before he got his emotions under control. First, Paris attempted to place a wedge between them last night. Now the man was tempting Torres with the ranking position in Engineering. Both knew the outcome making her the Chief. B’Elanna’s first loyalty would always be to her engines.

“I must concur, Captain,” Tuvok stated indifferently, analysing the subtle emotions crossing Chakotay’s face. “Ms. Torres academy transcript, while littered with disciplinary issues clearly demonstrates her engineering ability. She is, by far, the most qualified Engineer currently aboard _Voyager_.”

“B’Elanna’s good enough to teach at the Academy,” Chakotay broke in, anger contained in his flashing brown eyes. It was directed at Paris, informing the younger man he understood the ploy and had taken up the challenge.

Frowning, Captain Paris watched the men seated at the table. With all three in agreeance and without any real objection except that Lt. Carey had spent years working towards the position, she found herself with little alternative. “So, we have a new Chief Engineer. Ms. Holwort, please assign provisional Lieutenant, junior grade, B’Elanna Torres quarters and replicator rights for uniforms. Lt. Torres is to study Starfleet methodology with Lt. Carey and will meet with me weekly until further notice.”

“I understand,” Kathryn considered her next move carefully. Once again Tom’s words came back to her and she chose to both court Chakotay and flatter Ayala. “Mr. Ayala, you are also a graduate of the Academy, in the operations stream.” When Mike nodded, the Captain felt the man to be very self-contained and hard to read. “Will you accept a provisional commission of Ensign, and work with Commander Tuvok in Security?”

“Yes, Sir,” Ayala said. The barest hint of a smile gracing the corners of his lips.

“I prefer Captain, Mr. Ayala, or Ma’am at a pinch,” the Captain returned. It was an order. “Ms. Holwort,” the raised eyebrow was enough for the Quartermaster to go about her duties without further instruction.

“Aye, Captain,” Greta responded, discarding one PADD and picking up another.

“Now, Mr. Chakotay,” Kathryn turned her attention to the man.

“I accept the position of First Officer, Captain,” he stated easily, sinking back into his chair. The fact Torres and Ayala had been incorporated so easily lead him to believe the same would be true of the rest of his people.

“Good. You will be awarded the rank of provisional Lt. Commander. Your presence will be required in your office for this shift and the next, Mr. Chakotay. I’ll have Yeoman Dje show you to your quarters so you can change,” Kathryn stated easily. “Now to other ships matters. Mr. Tuvok what is the state of repairs?”

After half an hour, the Captain stood, signalling the meeting was ending. “Your first task, Mr. Chakotay, is to report on the skills and experience of each of the former Maquis crew, make suggestions on how to best utilise their services and with the consultation of Mr. Tuvok and Ms. Holwort, assign them posts and quarters. I want everyone in place by tomorrows duty shifts.”

Looking around the table, the four men and one woman nodded their understanding. “The next senior staff meeting will occur at o eight hundred tomorrow morning and will be held every day, whether or not you are on duty. Quartermaster, you are not required for these debriefings. Dismissed.”

As they filed out, Kathryn remained seated as she growled, “Mr. Paris, a moment of your time, please.”

“Captain,” Tom stood to attention, knowing what was coming next. Tuvok gave him a look that on anyone else would be one of condolence. To his utter surprise, his wife’s stern facade turned into a smile when the door slid closed.

“How did you get Lt. Carey to accept Torres?” she demanded. There was no heat in her tone and her grey eyes twinkled.

“Accept might be too strong a word,” Tom responded uneasily. “I spoke to him before he went on shift. Joe’s not happy but understands my reasons for wanting Torres as Chief and agrees with them. Besides, he’s going to be holding all the override codes until we trust B’Elanna completely and report on any behaviours that need investigation. Give it three months, Captain, and you’ll never know Lt. Torres wasn’t an Academy graduate assigned to this ship by Starfleet.”

“I hope you’re correct, Mr. Paris,” she allowed that eyebrow to rise, a learnt gesture from long association with Tuvok. Kathryn’s look said, _if we were in our quarters now_ , but they knew they weren’t and the moment past swiftly. “Speaking of override codes, I want you to hold them on this vessel.”

Smirking, Tom knew this was protocol, given his position as the most senior Intelligence officer. “The computer has already transferred them to the computer in my office.”

“Your office,” Kathryn asked suspiciously. “I was unaware the Chief Con officer had such a space.”

“He doesn’t,” Tom chuckled easily, “but the only Intelligence officer on board is to be provided a space with level ten forcefields, the ability to stop site to site transport and a computer system divorced from _Voyager’s_ mainframe. Don’t look at me that way, it was Tuvok who insisted. Besides, only you and our Tactical Officer know about it.”

“Where did he bury you,” Kathryn only just managed to hold back the chuckle, “on deck fifteen.”

“No,” Tom sobered. “Deck Nine A. I have the space that should house the Captain’s Yacht.”

“I see,” this time she didn’t hold back a chuckle. The space was perfect, and large, and completely unused by the crew. Even the forward lounge on that level was disregarded as too difficult to access via the turbolift system. The Intelligence officer would never be disturbed in the bowels of the saucer section. “Dismissed.”

“I hope I’ve made the correct decision,” Kathryn groaned. The day had been long and torturous. Pulling off her jacket as she entered her quarters, it landed on the single seat in the living area before she slumped onto the couch. Captain and Commander Paris had both worked the Alpha and Beta shifts to get the Maquis integration organised for the start of tomorrows rosters. Sharing a working meal in the Captain’s private dining room with Tuvok and Chakotay, the four had stood together on the bridge as they made the announcement about combining the crews over the audio and visual systems.

“You’re the Captain, you’re always right,” Tom teased. When his wife’s grey eyes boarded into him, he followed her lead, shedding his outer layer and sitting beside her. It wasn’t unusual to find them so close their thighs touched. “What choice did you really have? We both know it would have been inhumane to leave them on that Planet. Even one not in Kazon territory would have been an eventual death sentence.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any less guilty,” Kathryn responded, “forcing my crew to work alongside someone who is potentially plotting against them, or promoting Chakotay and Torres above people who deserved those positions, who have worked their entire careers to climb the ranks.”

“Making Chakotay your first officer and Torres the Chief of Engineering will calm things for a while. Tactically it was the right move. Both Tuvok and I have gone on record supporting your command decision,” Tom consoled. His hand snaked around his wife’s neck, pulling her closer.

“Which just means,” Kathryn shook her head, “we’ll all be in front of a court martial when we get home.”

“Kate,” Tom turned serious and forced his wife to face him, “there are two thing I know about you after ten years of marriage and almost twenty-five of knowing you. You will get us home and you’ll continue to add unnecessary guilt for every command decision you make no matter the outcome. I’m your husband and I’m here to make sure you’re not crushed under the weight of your own expectations. We both know they’ve always been impossibly high.” In an instant Paris became the irrepressible individual she’d fallen in love with, “oh, and I love you and always will, even if you’re angry with me for going behind your back without permission.”

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh, Kathryn Paris tried to remain unaffected by her incorrigible husband. It was impossible as he pulled her onto his knee and laid light kisses under her ear. It didn’t take long for the man to groan.

“I’m not going to win this round,” Tom exhaled as Kate’s body remained stiff in his embrace, “am I.”

“No,” Kathryn couldn’t stop the sudden laugh. He’d managed to change her mood, something Mr. Paris was very good at achieving when he set his mind to the task. “I need to talk about this, Tom. I need to talk about the emotional repercussions, as you’ve reminded me. I missed you so much on _Billings_ , not being there beside me at night, to go through the events of the day and make sense of them.”

“You had Tuvok,” Tom stated easily, his hand rubbing up and down Kate’s spine.

“Not quite the same,” Kathryn dead panned.

“I hope not,” he teased with a mock growl, “your both married and I can’t see our resident Vulcan breaking that many rules.”

“Now I have both of you,” she managed yet another smile and rewarded her husband with a light kiss, “on the same ship. I won’t know myself.”

“I have a feeling the decisions on _Voyager_ ,” Tom cut to the heart of her issues without trying, “are going to be more intense and difficult than any other command you’ve held. You don’t have the ability to communicate with Starfleet on matters of procedure, or others of your rank to debrief and socialise with. The buck stops with you.”

“How do you do that,” Kathryn demanded, her anger rising as she stood and paced. One of the aspects of Tom’s personality that she hated was his ability to cut to the very heart of any issue they encountered.

“I know you, Kate,” Tom stood, capturing his wife mid-step. Hands on her shoulders, he forced her to look up at him. “I know what you’re thinking and how those thoughts came about. This is not going to be the last time we have this discussion so drop the pretence of resentment and work with me to fix the issue before it becomes a major problem.”

“I’m not sure I know how,” she slumped into his embrace.

“And there in lays the real issue,” Tom whispered into her ear. Straightening, he led them back to the couch. “It’s been five years since we worked on the same vessel and even then, we were in different authority structures. At the time I was an Ensign then promoted to Lieutenant and you a Lt. Commander. We were both younger, inexperienced and not in the same command positions. This is very different and we have to find our way through. Even living in the same quarters on Jupiter Station, we had our own careers and interests outside of our marriage. I can’t do this alone, Kate. You need to meet me half way, you need to trust me with all your insecurities and vulnerabilities, that I’ll keep them to myself, not as one of your crew, but as your husband.”

“I’m the Captain and responsible for these people, for getting them home,” Kathryn’s tone, filled with guilt and determination, demonstrated her resolve.

“I’m your life partner and responsible for the health and welfare of my mate,” Tom returned, “especially as she’s the Captain. There are times you’re going to need to be just plain Mrs. Paris, to let your hair down and relax.”

Sighing once again, Kathryn looked deeply into those crystal-clear orbs. Tom said so much with just a look. She’d learnt to interpret them over their marriage.

“Let’s go to bed,” she offered, feeling restless and unresolved. Sleep would be the last thing on her mind but a little activity might help.

“That’s not going to solve this issue,” Tom warned. “Adding sex into the mix will only allow you to procrastinate longer, or ignore the issue completely. We need to get this out in the open now, tonight, Kate. I’m not going to bed until this is resolved.”

“What do you suggest, then, Mr. Paris,” she challenged.

Without a word, Tom stood. Offering a hand, he helped his wife from their couch and into her jacket. Holding out his hand, he laced their fingers before heading to the turbolift. In the hallways of _Voyager_ , even in uniform but on their off-duty time, he refused to allow Kate to let go. Exiting at deck six, Tom called up an open program he’d installed prior to leaving for his Maquis mission. Pulling a reluctant Kate behind him, they entered through the arch.

“Sandrine's,” Kathryn sounded surprised as she looked around the smoky space. Releasing her husband’s hand, she walked over to the pool table and lovingly ran her fingers over the felt. A smile covering her face at the sudden feeling of tranquillity that washed over her, she asked cheekily, “wan’ a play?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Tom grinned back, remembering the times they’d shared a meal or game in Marcelles on Earth. He’d introduced his, then, fiancée to the place in his final year as a cadet. It became a haven for them in the months after Admiral Janeway passed and before they married.

“I’m going to demolish you,” Kathryn teased, the worries from outside the holodeck walls slipping away, if only for an hour.

“Don’t you always,” he mocked. “I’m kind of sorry I ever introduced you to….”

“Monsieur and Madame Paris,” the bistros owner swaggered her way towards them, “it has been too long, no!”

“You programmed in Sandrine,” Kathryn asked, astonished by the detail. While she knew her husband’s programs were excellent, this was the first time she’d been able to compare reality to his creativity. He’d captured the very essence of the quaint bar.

“Why would he not, Chéri,” asked the temperamental hologram before turning her back on them and muttering under her breath in French.

While the Captain and her husband spent an hour relaxing, Ensign Kim slid into a seat beside the now Starfleet attired half Klingon engineer who had worked through two shifts without stopping. “I guess I can’t call you Maquis now,” the young Asian grinned, before seeing the rank bar on her collar. “Lt. Torres,” he stated in a surprised tone, “that’s some promotion.”

“That’s Chief Engineer Torres to you, Starfleet,” she returned his smile while pushing out a chair beside her. The space on deck two might be termed an officer’s mess. In reality is held replicators and an area with tables and chairs for eating. A larger lounge area could be found adjacent on the port and starboard sides.

Watching the Klingon eat alone, the Starfleet crew observed Ensign Kim greet her easily and then take a seat beside the woman. The interaction between the couple who’d been trapped for days on the Ocampa world together appeared friendly. Lowering their voices allowed Torres and Kim’s to carry. A rumour about the Maquis becoming the Chief Engineer now confirmed, they wondered what else they’d learn.

Sighing heavily, Harry knew the reason for the sudden quiet. It didn’t make his next request any simpler. “I need your help, B’Elanna,” he stated with a heavy sigh. “The Captain want’s a proposal on her desk by o seven thirty tomorrow about rationing and I don’t have a clue how to start.”

“Poor, Starfleet,” Torres teased, “never had to go without.” Watching the young man’s face fall, B’Elanna took pity on him. “Look, things weren’t great on _Val Jean_. There were times we didn’t even have ration bars and the lighting had to be turned off to half the ship. Out here,” looking around, she finally noticed the open ears but eyes glued to plates, “we’re on our own, just like we were in the Maquis.”

“So how did you do it?” Harry asked, intrigued. “How did you survive?”

“We ate when we could and didn’t when things got tough. Your Captain’s good,” Torres commented, “if she’s already considering energy and supply shortages. It’s not like we can just dock at a Starbase and resupply. Whatever system you use, rank shouldn’t come into it.”

“Why?” Harry enquired. This was not the Starfleet way. The higher your rank the more privilege, and conversely responsibility you earnt.

“Because everyone has the right to eat and take a sonic shower. You should really ask Paris for help with this,” B’Elanna shrugged. “He was the one who set up our system on _Val Jean_. Things worked a lot better after it was introduced.”

“I can’t ask Commander Paris,” Harry looked aghast. “Besides the Captain gave this project to me.”

“Why not?” Smirking, B’Elanna hit her com badge. It was something she’d managed to get use to in a very short amount of time. She’d missed the device more than she realised. “Computer, locate Commander Paris.”

“Commander Paris is on Holodeck one,” came the disembowelled voice.

“Torres to Paris,” she didn’t hesitate. A little of her reason was to help Harry. The remainder was to pay the traitor back. Snickering, B’Elanna didn’t care about eating into his leisure time.

“Go ahead,” he responded, holding a que stick and looking at his wife across the table. She was about to take a shot which would, undoubtedly sink the black in the corner pocket. They were going to share a quiet drink before finally retiring for the night.

“Ensign Kim has some homework set by the Captain that needs to be turned in bright and early tomorrow morning. I thought you might like to help out,” B’Elanna mocked.

Looking in askance at Kate, the woman smirked and offered “rationing system” in a whisper.

“Why don’t you and Ensign Kim join me on the Holodeck,” Tom offered easily. “Paris out.”

“Tom,” Kathryn warned. She neither wanted to share this precious time with her husband nor make Ensign Kim uncomfortable. Besides, the command structure needed to be maintained.

“I wrote this program to be shared. A place for the crew to come and relax. I think we need it now more than ever,” he calmly stated, indicating she should take her shot. “I can even add a sub-routine to allow the EMH to gauge the mood of the crew. So, when you’ve finished beating the pants off me, let’s get a table and wait for Torres and Kim.”

“I’m sorry,” Ensign Kim stuttered when he noticed the Commander accompanied by his wife, “we didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“Take a seat, Harry,” Tom swept a hand towards the two chairs on the other side of the table. Using his given name only made the green Ensign more nervous. Deciding Torres was a better target for his mirth, he added, “my wife and I were just relaxing after a double shift, but I’m sure we can spare the time to help you out. B’Elanna, I don’t think you’ve been introduced. This is the woman I never stopped talking about on _Val Jean_. Kate, B’Elanna, B’Elanna, Kate.”

If looks to kill, both women would have Mr. Thomas Paris popping up daisies. He didn’t seem to follow the rule of Starfleet etiquette. Tom didn’t take any notice of either and continued to pretend they were all good friends meeting up at their local bar. He simply smirked good naturedly. “Now, what is this problem that needs such urgent attention.”

B’Elanna started when it became obvious Starfleet wouldn’t say anything, “As you designed the rationing system on _Val Jean_ , I thought you might be able to give Harry some pointers.”

“I think that’s my cue to leave.” Kathryn attempted to stand, only her husband’s arm snaked around her shoulders. Giving him a glare, Tom returned it easily, along with an expression that stated, _this is exactly what I was talking about earlier this evening in our quarters_.

Turning his head, Tom whispered, “stay.”

Captain Kathryn Paris did, not only because of the heavy arm holding her down. In her heart she knew her husband was trying to maintain those aspects of her personality she’d lose all to soon if she made her job the only focus in her life. In spite of herself, Mrs. Kate Paris enjoyed the foray into the complexities of Tom’s mind as he argued with both Torres and Kim about the rationing system that shouldn’t work, but, as time would tell, actually did. Their time on the holodeck had the added bonus of meeting her new Chief Engineer. If she weren’t secure in her relationship with Tom, Kathryn would swear there was an attraction between the two.

_Possibly_ , the Captain analysed, _because we are more alike than I’ll ever admit to B’Elanna Torres._


	14. Reality Bites

“Well, Ensign Kim,” Kathryn smirked at the young man standing to attention in her ready room, “as you discussed this proposal with Commander Paris and Lt. Torres last evening at Sandrine’s, do I really need to read it?”

“Ma’am,” Harry questioned as he stood straighter, if at all possible. He wasn’t quite sure if the Captain was teasing him in that tone of voice. However, last night, meeting **_Kate Paris_** socially had been awkward but rewarding.

“At ease, Ensign,” the Captain tried to hold back a chuckle, “before you strain something. As to this,” she waved the PADD in the air, “I think the sooner we get this system into general use the better. I’ll have a ship wide communique sent after the Senior Officers briefing. I expect to see you there, representing Operations.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry nodded, allowing his pleasure to infuse his face at the endorsement.

“That will be all, Ensign,” Kathryn dismissed, her grey eyes following the florescent green officer as he returned to the bridge. Unfortunately, the meeting with Harry Kim only highlighted the youth and inexperience of many crewmembers, some of whom would need to be placed in positions of authority and influence. For many, this mission would be a baptism by fire. _At least I have Tom with me_ , Kathryn mused. _Working together might not be ideal, but he has been in Starfleet for ten years. I’m not sure I really want to know the details concerning his missions but Tom’s experiences might just get us through in a tough situation._

Working though the information on several PADD’s littering her desk, Kathryn sipped her second coffee of the day. All to soon it would exist only in her memory, unless they found new and inventive ways to increase their energy storage capacity, such as establishing communal cooking facilities. Of course, that required fresh organic produce and the only way to ensure a supply would be to grow or collect it, as the first space going vessels did. The advantage of turning carbon dioxide into oxygen would reduce the power needed to run environmental control. A win-win situation for _Voyager_.

“Sometimes I feel like am navigating a maze,” the Captain threw down the PADD a moment later in a fit of rage, “one turn leads to three or four more passages, all of which look promising. Each decision effects the ones I’ve already made, some leading me into a dead end and having to reconsider everything I’ve already decided.”

Ten minutes before the Senior Staff briefing, Tom entered. He noticed the apathetic expression on Kate’s face. Approaching her replicator, she watched silently, knowing what he’d do. She got like this when her blood sugars were running low and there was no adrenalin in her system to keep her going. Suddenly, a plate appeared which he dutifully placed before her with cutlery but no accompanying coffee.

“I know you slipped out this morning without breakfast,” he frowned menacingly. “I also know you’ll work straight though lunch, fortifying yourself with the stimulant you prefer. By the time I see you tonight, you’re going to be dead on your feet and complain when I try to feed you. Eat,” Tom demanded, pushing the omelette towards his wife. 

Grumbling, the infuriating man sat on the other side of her desk and watched every mouthful until she’d finished, maintaining his neutral facade. “Happy,” Kathryn scowled.

“Ecstatic,” Tom responded in the same manner. Taking the plate to be recycled, he waited for his Captain to proceed into the briefing room via the back corridor. “We both know I wouldn’t have to bother, if you just got up ten minutes earlier and ate in our quarters, with me.”

“It’s hard to change the habits of a life time,” Kathryn fired back, feeling less petulant but refusing to let Tom off the hook that easily.

“I seem to recall,” Tom mocked, “it wasn’t an issue on _Olympia_ when we were first married. That bad habit started after my first Intelligence mission.”

Unwilling to grace her husband with an answer, Kathryn Paris strode into the briefing room. Neelix and Kes were waiting for her, which surprised the Captain. Incorporating the Maquis into their ranks yesterday meant she’d not given the pair a thought. Tom ensured the Talaxian’s small ship had been resupplied and she assumed they’d left _Voyager_.

“Ah, Captain!” The odd little man seemed irrepressible today. His eyes bright and smile wide, it was a very different individual to the one she’d encountered in Sickbay a few days prior. Somehow the time in between stretched to feel like a month. “We were just coming to see you.”

Holding in a sigh, Kathryn felt her husband’s calming influence in the form of a hand gracing the middle of her back. “Your ship has been resupplied, Mr. Neelix. It's ready to go.”

“Well, you see,” the Talaxian looked at Harry Kim and Chakotay, who entered from the bridge, “that's what we wanted to discuss. We'd like to go with you.”

“I'm sorry. This isn't a passenger vessel,” the Captain stated.

“Of course not,” offered the softly spoken Ocampan woman. Kathryn had yet to read the full medical report or speak with Kes about her treatment at the hands of Maj Javin. It was information that would be helpful, if any of her crew were caught by the Kazon or decided to defect. “We won't be passengers.”

Far too effusive for this time of the morning, Neelix started to ramble. “We'd be valuable colleagues. Whatever you need is what I have to offer. You need a guide? I'm your guide. You need supplies? I know where to procure them. I have friends among races you don't even know exist. You need a cook? Oh, you haven't lived until you've tasted my angla'bosque. It will be my job to anticipate your needs before you know you have them. And I anticipate your first need will be me.”

Kes didn’t hesitate to cut Neelix off. “Captain,” she offered in that delicate voice that said so much with few words, “we both want very much to be a part of your journey. If you don’t mind, I've been thinking that you might be able to convert one of your lower decks into a hydroponics bay to grow your own food. I understand that the replicators will soon be down and that the emergency rations won't hold out.”

“What about Cargo Bay two?” Harry chimed in. After their discussion last night, he’d been thinking the same. In fact, he’d been unable to sleep until he researched the methods used to feed a crew on the first starships. “It was designed for organic storage and it already has adjustable environmental controls.”

“When can you start?” Kathryn asked, the first genuine smile creasing her lips in days. This fitted with her overall plan and solved a lot of problems at the same time. When the young woman looked at her in askance, the Captain stated, “if you’re not going to be a passenger, then I need to assign you a role on _Voyager_. This is your idea. It's your project. Oh, how would you feel about taking on some medical training with our EMH. I believe your personality would be well suited to work with the Doctor and the crew would welcome a more feminine approach on occasion.”

“The Doctor,” Kes looked startled. “I think I’d like that, Captain.”

“And you, Mr. Neelix,” Kathryn turned her attention to the Talaxian.

“I can do some wonderful things in the kitchen,” he enthused. “My feragoit goulash is known across twelve-star systems. Now, not far from here is a planet in the Feragoit system that would trade water for fresh fruits and vegetables. Of course, I’ll need somewhere to prepare and cook them.”

“Both the Officers and Enlisted mess will need to be fitted out and personnel assigned,” Chakotay added. “Chell was a chef before coming on board _Val Jean_. His cooking is Bolian in style but edible. If we’re running two mess halls, we will need at least two other crew assigned to those duties.”

“Make it so, Mr. Chakotay. Mr. Neelix, speak with Ensign Kim at operations and Lt. Torres in engineering after this meeting,” Kathryn dismissed her new civilian consultants, “they will help you get this project started. I want it up and running at the earliest possible moment.”

B’Elanna burst through the door in time to hear yet another task added to the never-ending list. Still she wanted to get the most pressing matter out of her system before taking on yet more work. Lt. Carey at her side, the fiery Klingon felt as if she were being coddled. Yet, Joe had been ordered to escort her everywhere with the aim of teaching B’Elanna Starfleet procedure and protocol.

“Engine efficiency's down fourteen percent,” she barked. Torres could hear the inward drawing of Carey’s breath, meaning she’d screwed up once again.

“Meaning,” Tom smirked, using the hand in the middle of his wife’s back to indicate she should take a seat so the rest of them could follow the Captain’s lead. Lt. Torres wouldn’t hold in her concerns, especially about her engines and the Commander didn’t want this first staff meeting to disintegrate before starting. “If we don't get more power to the warp drive, we're all going to have to get out and push.”

“All right people,” Kathryn glanced around before sitting, “we have a lot to get through this morning. As you’ve brought up engine efficiency Lt. Torres, let’s start there. After that, I want to address what supplies can be scavenged from the planet we’re now orbiting.”

Days turned into weeks more quickly than anyone anticipated. Changes were everywhere and yet things stayed essentially the same. Former Starfleet crew hated the rationing and working with a terrorist partner, former Maquis chaffed at the uniforms and rules. Yet each department’s productivity didn’t drop, nothing got past the command team and on the surface the integration seemed to be working out well.

In Engineering, Lt. Carey no longer attended the daily Senior Officers briefings alongside Lt. Torres. B’Elanna had managed to take control easily, although some aspects of protocol and procedure continued to elude her. Her temper was actually the best pancrea towards assimilation in her department. The Maquis, knowing their Chief’s irritability conversely cajoled or comforted Starfleet personnel through her, thankfully, decreasing outburst. Together they learnt to read, but not react, to her mercurial moods.

The same could not be said of the bridge command crew. Lt. Commander Chakotay dutifully attended his obligations but kept himself apart from the rest of the Senior officers socially. He respectfully stood at Captain Paris’s side. On occasion he questioned her decisions or offered other solutions. He often attended meals in her private quarters with Commander Paris and Lt. Commander Tuvok in attendance.

The switch to the Captain’s private quarters became necessary when Mr. Neelix turned her secluded dining room into a galley without permission. His cooking was an experience many of the officers dreaded, even after a week of ration packs while getting the kitchens online. With energy supplies decreasing and rationing in effect, every officer had to chance the newly crowned Senior Mess hall at least twice a day. This also helped Maquis and Starfleet crew below decks come to recognise each other. Chell had been tasked with running the General Crew mess on Deck ten. Bolian cooking, it seemed, was not so different from Neelix’s creations in the taste department.

“Seska,” finally Captain Paris brought up the subject at their morning meeting the third week after being stranded in the Delta quadrant, “is the only individual remaining in the brig. Both Chell and Oden have accepted their part in the riot and agreed to serve a suitable punishment. Under Article 108 (taken from the US military legislation) they will serve as crewmen on half pay for the period of one month. Seska, however, refuses to see her actions as destructive, has confirmed she was the instigator and had declared to do so again given the opportunity. She has declined the offer to join this crew. As such I have no choice but to charge her with wilful destruction of Federation Property under the civilian code. I have given Seska the choice of remaining in _Voyager’s_ brig until we reach the Alpha quadrant where she can be tried independently or find a suitable species that will accept her with full disclosure of her crime.”

Chakotay had been unaware of these proceedings. He’d attempted to see Seska on one occasion only to have request gently denied by the Brig’s security team. Several former Maquis had come to him with the same story. Finding Chell and Oden after their release, they stated Seska had been kept in a different cell during their incarceration. They’d been treated well but when they asked about their fellow Maquis, the guard stated it was protocol to separate men and women under federation law.

Angered, Chakotay attempted to swallow the bile rising in his throat at this new information. “I want to speak with her myself,” he stated.

“Due to the closeness of your relationship,” Tuvok answered before the Captain could, “that is inadvisable at this point, Commander. The case against Seska has been treated with every attention to Starfleet and Federation procedure. She has confirmed her culpability without remorse.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Chakotay attempted to defend his lover, “she's a Maquis, and in the Maquis, sometimes you have to push people out of your way to get things done.”

“Seska is no longer a member of the Maquis, and with all due respect, Commander,” Tuvok allowed his left eyebrow to rise, “neither are you. Permitting any crew member to get away with a clear violation of regulations sets a bad example. It may appear as though favouritism were demonstrated when we are attempting to achieve an accord between former Maquis and Starfleet personnel.”

“That's the problem,” Captain Paris stopped the bickering with a wave of her hand. “They're no longer your people, Mr. Chakotay. You're treating the Maquis on this ship like they're still your crew. In your role as First Officer, you are responsible for one hundred and forty-two souls.”

“I'm doing everything I can to integrate this crew,” he returned heatedly, “but frankly, you're not making it easy for me, Captain.”

“I can't make it easy for anyone who does not have the discipline or training, Commander. Surely you can understand that,” Kathryn explained. “In this situation, Seska attempted to lead a munity, that if successful, might have compromised the Prime directive and the entire reason for destroying the array instead of forcing the Caretaker to send us home. Not to mention the damage that still needs to be repaired on deck four. When I spoke to Seska, at length before making my decision, she cannot see any reason to withhold our replicator and transporter technology from the Kazon, if it grants us safe passage through this region of space. Besides,” handing the man a PADD, “I think you will consider this situation from a different perspective when you read the Doctor’s report.”

Scanning the document, Chakotay was aware of the silence surrounding him. Whatever this device held, Commander Paris and Lt. Commander Tuvok already knew its contents. Feeling left out only increased his anger. It left just as suddenly when he saw the results of a deep DNA scan.

“Chakotay,” B’Elanna asked, her voice revealing her concern. With only an expression of betrayal, he handed the PADD to the Engineer. Everyone at the table knew the moment she reached the doctors conclusion when a sting of Klingon expletives burst from her mouth.

“That will be enough, Lieutenant,” Captain Paris remonstrated, calling for decorum.

“I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her,” B’Elanna stated with a menacing growl. “I knew they did that, the Cardassian’s, I just never expected it would happen on _Val Jean_.”

“Let’s be grateful,” Kathryn sighed heavily, “that our EMH is methodical with his physical examinations or this might have been overlooked. It seems Orketts Disease is not a reason for a Bajoran to have Cardassian DNA. All Seska’s physical attributes have been engineered to hide her true appearance. She will start to display her unaffected physiology within weeks without a supply of Koline to supress her genetic heritage.”

“May I suggest,” Tuvok added, “Mr. Chakotay inform those crew who once held an affinity towards the Maquis. I believe, coming from you, the truth will be accepted.”

“Chakotay,” Kathryn looked with concern towards her first officer.

He nodded slowly. This event had shaken his faith yet he owed it to his former crew to tell them the truth. Not only had his former first officer turned out to be Starfleet intelligence, but his lover a Cardassian spy. “Was anyone on _Val Jean_ working for the cause,” the man suddenly erupted from his seat.

“I was,” B’Elanna chimed in, her eyes watching him pace like a caged tiger.

“No, you weren’t,” Chakotay placed a hand on the back of Torres chair and lent in close. His words came out harsh. “You’ve always been working for your engines. That’s all you care about. Even here on _Voyager_ , you were seduced within hours.”

“That will be enough, Mr. Chakotay,” Kathryn stood and asserted her authority with her voice alone. “I will not allow one of my officers to be treated disrespectfully. While I understand this has come as a shock, you are dismissed to your quarters until you can find some perspective.”

“Perhaps,” Tuvok suggested, his fingers steepled before him, “we should postpone this briefing, Captain.”

“Agreed,” Kathryn turned to face the window and the star scape beyond. She understood the Tactical officers’ reference only too well. Tuvok expected trouble when Seska’s true affiliation was revealed. “There is little of importance to be discussed and nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Dismissed.”

After a few minutes, Captain Paris felt the presence of her husband standing behind her, close enough for his body heat to pervade her senses but not close enough to touch. “Don’t you have duties?” she demanded, irritated and upset.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Tom spoke softly. “And nothing that’s more important than the mental health and wellbeing of the Captain.” When she continued to stand before the window, Commander Paris turned into Mr. Tom Paris, loving husband. “Kate, I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me. Before you argue, I don’t care that we’re on shift and not in our quarters. Besides, sending me to the brig for insubordination hurts you as much as it gives me the opportunity for a shot at Seska.”

She didn’t want to, but the comment brought a change in mood. Her heavy thoughts dissipated with her husband’s incorrigible behaviour. “I don’t know how you manage it, Tom, I really don’t. I should, you know.” Watching his expression reflected off the clear aluminium, Tom Pairs understood his wife’s comment. “Throw you in the brig for insubordination. Then again, when I get home tonight, who will feed me and massage my feet?”

“The dilemma of command,” he smirked, finally closing the distance between them. Pulling Kate into his embrace, his chin resting on her head, they both watched the universe beyond the window. “And you wonder why I don’t want it!”

Pulling away, Kathryn turned to face Tom with a light smile. “Get out of here, Commander, before I change my mind.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

_I don’t know how he manages it_ , Kathryn shook her head ruefully, _to infer so much in those two little words. Must be that sexy voice and the rebellious tone that I love so much. Oh, who the hell am I kidding! It’s the same one he’s used for the last fourteen years to get me into bed._


	15. Reflections

Peace, as a concept is wonderful, but throughout known history, has not lasted very long. The first three days _Voyager_ spent in the Delta quadrant the crew were comatose and on the Caretakers array. The following three, Captain Paris formed an alliance with the Maquis to retrieve Harry Kim and B’Elanna Torres, culminating in the loss of _Val Jean,_ addition of Neelix and Kes and finally, the creation of a new enemy. The last fourteen days had been, relatively, peaceful as those two crews attempted to integrate.

Captain Kathryn Paris knew everything was going a little too smoothly. While Neelix and Chell’s cooking might not be palatable, it was nutritious. The crew were fed and healthy, if not ecstatic about the fare. The three Kazon attacks had been repulsed easily with little damage to Voyager and no casualties. It gave her inexperienced crew the opportunity to perform under battle conditions, learning from mistakes that wouldn’t cause serious damage. They’d found the Feragoita falling over themselves to trade all manner of goods for water, which only furthered Commander Paris’s opinion that the liquid was in short supply in this sector. Lt. Torres couldn’t be happier. Her stocks of deuterium were at eighty-nine percent and the engine efficiency back to tolerable levels. The replicators were even back on line and they were out of Grey mode. Tuvok’s security team had broken up several conflicts between former Maquis and Starfleet crew. Taking their rations and holodeck privileges away soon cooled tempers.

_Or_ , Kathryn sat on the couch in her Ready room and gazed out at the passing stars, _we’ve managed to drive the discord underground, making it harder for Tuvok and Tom to uncover what’s actually going on._

Sighing while reaching for her fifth cup of coffee, Kathryn contemplated the events of the last three weeks. _Voyager_ was well stocked in terms of energy and fresh produce. The hydroponics bay had been established. Crew rosters and rotations had been tweaked to the point that every major position necessary to run her ship had been filled. They were in great shape, all things considered and wouldn’t need to stop for three months, so long as the Kazon continued to do little damage.

“So why am I worrying,” Kathryn asked her reflection. Grey eyes noticed the discolouration starting under her orbs from a lack of sleep and weight of command. She barely seen more than her the back of her husband’s head as he sat at the con before her, such were their schedules. Even when she managed to get to bed, there was more reports than she had time to read. So far, Tom hadn’t complained, overly much. “We’ve been in this quadrant less than three weeks and it’s been smooth sailing.”

Niggling at the back of her mind, Kathryn considered each of her senior staff. Tuvok had initially taken a back step as her council with Tom on board, until they needed to address the Seska situation. In that matter, Commander Paris had not been consulted, nor did he seem dissatisfied with the situation, after all, it wasn’t his department. Tom appeared happy to play Chief Con officer with the duties assigned that role, leaving him more time for a private life, albeit without his wife’s constant company. Chakotay was still an unknow quantity, especially after his behaviour this morning. Then her intellect hit on the problem.

_I’m sleeping with one of my crew! I’m no different in that regard to Chakotay. How would I react if Tom’s loyalties secretly lay with the Maquis,_ it was an alarming thought, because they’d had the conversation about his feelings toward Cardassian’s prior to her husband’s shipping out to the DMZ. _And there in lays the rub, as Tom would say. He’s not just one of my crew, but my husband of ten years. Starfleet have indorsed the relationship by allowing us to serve together on Olympia and Jupiter Station._

_Yet, Tom took his last mission because both our lives have been devastated by the Cardassian’s. I know he sympathises with the cause but he’s also spent ten years as an Intelligence operative and can compartmentalise better than me! There is no way he would switch sides. That’s not my issue, it’s the fraternisation protocols. If I had to choose between Tom and this ship, my crew, I’d be forced to decide against my husband and the father of my son. It’s not a situation I ever want to be placed in._

Standing in the conference room this morning after the discussion about Seska, but before her thoughts could turn despondent, before the weight of the decisions she was forced to make every minute of every day overwhelmed her, Tom had sensed her mood and acted to buoy her flagging spirits. Although in uniform and not in their quarters, Commander Paris had consoled her. Mrs. Kate Paris enjoyed the foray while the Captain should have stopped the member of her crew from such overt actions beyond their duties.

“I served on the _Al Batani, Sutherland_ and _Herra_ before marrying,” Captain Paris imagined the reflection in the clear aluminium to be her alter ego, Mrs. Kate Paris. In the attempt to make sense of her mixed emotions, she conversed with the woman. “The last two vessels with weekly com’s from Tom, more if he could managed it after we were engaged.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Paris returned unsatisfied. The woman reflected back at her needed reminding of other aspects of their life together. “But then we were both posted to _Olympia_ for four years. We had our fights and arguments, as any newlyweds do. As First Officer, my husband was, technically, under my command. I know Tom’s trying to slip back into the patterns we established on that ship. They were comfortable and we were ecstatically happy.”

“Everything is different now,” the Captain returned, “we’re different, older and I hope, wiser. Four years on _Billings_ with only leave and the occasional meeting when our schedules allowed, it was unsatisfactory. We could have grown apart, but we didn’t. Which just demonstrates we can maintain our relationship while following our careers.”

“Why were you able to remain married, Captain,” the wife demanded. “I’ll remind you. Mostly because my husband made the sacrifices to meet up with my ship at every opportunity. I was too caught up in chasing the Command Career, only giving Tom the bits that were left, and he excepted that, just as he will now. Finally, I made it and we had eighteen months together on Jupiter station but our positions gave us different vocational paths. Then I lost him again for six months and my life turned upside down. I couldn’t just com my husband to hear his voice or see Tom’s face. I conceived and carried our son, then was forced to leave him behind. I never want to live through that again. While my husband sticks to the ideals of our agreement, we stay together! Don’t even think about changing back to your maiden name, Captain, to maintain your authority, or worse, granting my husband his own quarters. It won’t be just Tom that’s heartbroken by those decisions.”

“Do you think,” The Captain retaliated crossly, the mere thought of not sleeping in the same bed each night appalling, “when he showed up on my bridge, that I wasn’t ecstatic to find out Tom was alive and well. So far, we’ve had one argument, he’s respected my boundaries, personal and professional, mostly.”

“Then,” the wife asked calmly, “why are you so worried? Tom’s only vested interest is me. That man loves too much to do anything to hurt me.”

“Maybe the question should be what is it that I’m actually worried about?” Kathryn Paris asked herself morosely. “I know Tom will never take advantage of my position or authority. Am I more concerned I’ll make a decision he doesn’t agree with and our relationship will suffer, or that Tom will, or worst of all, have to place the needs of my ship above anything else?”

The chime indicated a crew member at her door. Not really wanting to be disturbed, Kathryn stood and straightened out her jacket. “Come,” she offered in a terse tone.

“Mr. Chakotay,” the Captain smiled but the expression didn’t flow to her eyes as her First Officer entered her sanctuary. “What can I do for you.”

“I just had the most disconcerting experience,” the First Officer stated, still obviously bewildered and more than a little ill at ease.

“How so?” the Captain asked.

“Well, it went something like this…..

“Paris to Chakotay,” Tom didn’t quite know if he was about to make the worst mistake of his life. He might get Chakotay on side, but it would be at the expense of his personal relationship with Kate, unless he was very careful to obsecrate the truth.

“Go ahead,” came the sullen response. In the two hours since the Captain sent him to his quarters, Chakotay couldn’t settle enough to call on the bones of his people and find his animal guide for advice. This situation with Seska kept going around in his mind.

“Meet me on holodeck one, Commander,” Tom knew now he’d set this action into motion there was no going back. If the Captain found out, he’d be toast. When his wife found out, well, life might not be worth living.

“Is this really necessary, Commander,” Chakotay demanded, his tone icy.

“I believe so. Paris out.” Tom ended the conversation. Technically the highest-ranking officer had that privilege. Only the Captain could cut Tom off, which would annoy the XO. Few understood, in extreme circumstances, he could actually out-rank the Captain and take control of _Voyager_. Technically, he would always be the First Officer, no matter who Captain Paris awarded the position. His clearance was higher than anyone on this ship, including his wife, and therefore his knowledge of Federation Military objectives greater.

It took the reluctant man fifteen minutes to appear. Tom waited patiently. When Chakotay finally entered the Holodeck a level ten omega forcefield had been erected. There would never be any proof of the program or conversation that was about to occur. Shocked, the First Officer found himself on the bridge of a science vessel. As the simulation had been cobbled together quickly, the coding was not as faultless as Tom would have liked. Still it would perform the function he required.

“Where am I,” Chakotay asked, before noticing Captain Own Paris in the command chair. The man looked about the same age as in his memory, which would have been fifteen years ago.

“This is the _Al Batani_ ,” Tom said softly. “My father held command of this vessel for seven years. At the science station are two young ensign’s, six months out of the academy. Their colouring and body shape are similar. One is my sister, Catharine with a C, Cathy Paris. The other will one day be Kathryn with a K, Kate Paris. They are about to start the Arias expedition.”

“Captain Paris was captured,” Chakotay had a moment of pure clarity, “with a young Ensign from the Science division.”

“You know what the Cardassian’s do to female prisoners, especially those from the Federation,” Tom stated, the anger he experienced just under the surface. The pair watched the bridge crew move around them in silence, observers only in this play. “In this case they did it while a father watched in order to break him. It didn’t work but Captain Paris came home a very different man. It was the reason I volunteered for the mission to infiltrate the Maquis. The Cardassian’s need to be stopped before there is all out war, before they can destroy the lives of more Federation citizens.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Chakotay demanded. In truth, the bile rose in his throat at the crude but very effective torture inflicted on both the young Ensign and Captain.

“This morning you wondered if anyone was working for the cause on _Val Jean_ ,” Tom wouldn’t give the man the pleasure of watching his expression. Head facing the forward screen, his words came out through clenched teeth. “Well, I was, just from a different perspective. Don’t ever question my loyalty while I served with you again, Chakotay. Nor that of my wife here on _Voyager_ , because she’ll give everything she has, destroy herself to get this crew home. In fact, she’s started already.”

“Kate has lived through effects of my father’s torture on our family, on me,” Tom stated aggressively. “There are some nights when the memories of the monster who came home still haunt me. Of the tears a young woman cried for years, trying to forget what happened to her. Kate knows the cost and will work until everyone on this ship is reunited with their families, and that includes you and the other former Maquis.”

Swallowing hard, Chakotay didn’t want to understand or feel for the young man at his side. Hogan had been through something similar but spoke of it more openly, his eyes blazing with hate. His sister had died when the Cardassian who continued to favour her discovered her pregnancy. “Your allegiance now,” the first officer had to asked.

“I’m a Starfleet Intelligence Officer with ten years field experience. You taught Advanced Tactics, you know what that means. This wasn’t my first foray into Cardassian territory,” Tom grunted, while backing towards the arch. “Don’t you dare tell my wife, even she doesn’t have the clearance to open most of my file. My allegiance is to Kate first, my Captain second and the prime directive third. Beyond that,” shrugging, “you’re all in the same basket. Remember what I’ve told you, Chakotay, especially when Kate needs you the most.”

“Paris,” before the word was out of his mouth, Tom had disappeared through the arch. However, Lt. Commander Chakotay couldn’t help wondering what more there was to the situation, what ideas were running through the Commander’s mind.

Shocked, Kathryn Paris slumped into her couch. Inviting Chakotay to join her, grey eyes turned icy. “What do you think Commander Paris meant?”

“Honestly,” he looked aggrieved, “I have no idea, but get the feeling its related to Seska.”

Nodding, Kathryn wondered what to do. Obviously, her husband had protected her privacy, leading Chakotay to believe Cathy Paris had been captured with her father. No one would ever be able to corroborate which Ensign had been taken. The file was still sealed. Still, she’d been considering just this situation prior to her First Officer’s visit. Tom had gone behind her back and acted without orders, opening their personal and professional lives to Chakotay.

“Captain to Tuvok,” Kathryn made one of her famous decisions.

“Yes, Captain,” the Vulcan answered.

“Please come to my ready room,” Kathryn ordered.

Out of the corner of her eye, the Captain noticed Chakotay’s reaction. It seemed he’d taken Tom’s words to heart. The second major shock in a single day had the man reeling. Yet, Commander Paris had set up the perfect opportunity to get her First Officer on side. Now all she had to do was court him properly, and at her husband’s expense. Perhaps there was nothing more to this scenario than Tom creating an opportunity to get the Maquis leaders loyalty.

“You wished to see me, Captain?” Tuvok asked after being granted entry. An eyebrow rose at the physical closeness between his Captain and her First officer, especially after the Senior staff meeting this morning.

“Mr. Chakotay,” Kathryn crossed her legs towards the former Maquis Captain, opening her body language, “would you please repeat the conversation you had with Commander Paris on the Holodeck.”

For the second time, the First Officer told his story. “I’m beginning to feel like a traitor,” he stated, “Paris didn’t want me to tell you, Captain, let alone _Voyager’s_ security officer. I checked the logs and nothing has been recorded. There is no evidence of our meeting.”

“Commander Paris is an Intelligence officer,” Tuvok stated, as if that were all that needed saying.

“Meaning he has the ability to hold clandestine conversations on the holodeck,” Chakotay asked, more than a little annoyed.

“Or anywhere on _Voyager_ he deems fit. The question is,” Tuvok stated rationally, “not what Commander Paris stated, but what he is eluding too. Mr. Paris is a ten-year veteran in Intelligence, used to undertaking highly dangerous mission, often alone and at the highest levels of confidence. You believe he is planning something, an event that will leave his wife be fret of his company?”

“That’s the way it sounded to me,” Chakotay agreed.

“Captain, in this instance, you know Mr. Paris better than any of us,” Tuvok turned on the woman. “What are your thoughts?”

“Honestly, Tuvok,” Kathryn sighed, “I have no idea. Even Admiral Paris couldn’t open most of Tom’s file, nor could we establish if he was alive or dead before both being called into Starfleet HQ prior to this mission.”

“I have given Commander Paris’s position much thought,” Tuvok sounded aggrieved, “and logically concluded he is the one individual on this vessel capable of a single handed and successful mutiny.” Watching his long-time friend, Kathryn pursed her lips but didn’t interrupt. “Captain, I have known your husband ten years and do not believe it is within his nature unless pushed to do so. However, the risk is considerable under the correct circumstance. Mr. Paris was at your side for the entire commissioning of _Voyager_. His position and level of security clearance allow him access to the Command codes. Added to Mr. Paris’s ability to hold clandestine meetings, my level of concern has increased.”

“Agreed,” Kathryn said, pushing herself from the couch and pacing. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“May I suggest,” Chakotay began, before the ship rocked. Seated, he fared well.

Captain Paris wasn’t so lucky. She crashed into the banister separating the sitting area from her desk. Managing to remain upright by hanging onto the railing, Tuvok tottered before catching himself. All three officers rushed to the bridge. Commander Paris stood in the middle of the trilevel area issuing orders.

“Report,” the Captain barked, coming to relieve him.

“We're run into some kind of spatial distortion,” the Ensign at the science station reported.

“Mr. Tuvok!” Kathryn knew the Vulcan would have taken over his tactical station.

“The distortion is emanating from a highly localized area in the space-time continuum.” Concentrating on the readouts, he informed, “distance, twenty thousand kilometres off the port bow.”

Without being told, Tom vacated the command chair for the Captain and First Officer. Crewman Grimes stood from the Con, offering the position to his senior. Commander Paris didn’t hesitate to take the seat before his fingers danced over the keyboard and the ship evened out.

It didn’t take long to uncover that _Voyager_ was trapped in a singularity. Between Captain Paris and Lt. Torres they formed a plan to find the opening and widen the point of entry. While Tom offered his services to fly the shuttle, the Captain chose B’Elanna to accompany her. It spoke volumes about the trust Kathryn now placed in her Chief Engineer.

“Commander Chakotay, report,” the Captain demanded the moment she entered the bridge at the conclusion of her away mission.

“We're almost to the rupture,” Chakotay offered, before allowing his tone to turn sardonic. “Mr. Paris is about to impress us with his piloting skills.”

“The rupture's collapsing,” Ensign Kim shouted from operations. “It's down to one hundred and ten metres wide.”

“In command school, they taught us to always remember that manoeuvring a starship is a very delicate process,” Kathryn stood with hands on her hips and a smile playing about her lips. Lt. Torres had only voiced the opinion in the minds of many of the bridge crew when she suggested they wouldn’t make it. However, the Captain was sure of two things. Their helmsmen was the best Starfleet had to offer, and her ship would make it back out into real space. “Over the years I've learned that sometimes you just have to punch your way through. Mr. Paris, full impulse power.”

Voyager approached the rift. Turbulence increased knocking several crew members off their feet. At the helm, Tom held steady, marking down the distance. His concentration was devoted to his panel and the screen before him.   
  


“I'm losing power to the port impulse engine,” Commander Paris called. Harry switched to auxiliary power. While Tuvok commented on the hull integrity failing. Tom expected nothing less from this crew who were becoming cohesive and battle hardened.

“Keep it together, Mr. Paris,” the Captain commanded, her eyes never leaving the main screen. Never would she show weakness on the bridge; however, her move had been more than bold and Kathryn Paris held her insecurities and doubts rigidly behind a mask of determination. It proved successful as Voyager ejected into normal space and she was able to silently sigh.

“We've cleared the event horizon, Captain,” Tuvok’s tone could be misconstrued for relief.

“Sometimes you just have to punch your way through,” Tom turned around, facing his wife with a wide grin. “I'll have to remember that one.”

  
“Set a course, Mr. Paris. I want to be at least one hundred million kilometres away from the singularity before we begin repairs,” Kathryn ordered. “Then hand the con to Mr. Grimes and I’ll see you in my ready room.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tom responded with his usual aplomb. Yet he’d read the subtle anger in her tone. It seemed Chakotay had taken the bate and gone straight to the Captain. One look towards the tactical station and Commander Paris understood Tuvok had also been informed.

_Life’s about to get tough, Tom old boy_ , Paris considered his options miserably. _Not that you haven’t planned it this way. I just hope Kate understands. If not, it looks like I might be requisitioning new quarters. Wont the crew just love that gossip. Not even three weeks and the Captain has already kicked her husband to the curb. Still, nothing better for bringing out the Maquis who aren’t fitting in and the Starfleet personal that have grudges against anyone in Intelligence._


	16. Confrontation

“What the hell were you thinking?” Kathryn demanded of her Intelligence Officer the moment the doors to her ready room closed. Standing tall and ridged while facing the window, she watched the man’s reflection as he ever so casually sauntered towards her. Both understood to what the question pertained.

Placing his hands in an at ease position behind his back, Tom continued up the two stairs, coming to rest within a few centimetres of his wife. He didn’t need to be told Kate was furious, her body language shouted it. Shrugging, Commander Paris knew she was observing his every movement and expression, both as his commanding officer and his wife. The dichotomy was crushing her, but with their new roles and responsibilities, it was inevitable.

“What do you want me to say?” Tom spoke evenly, maintaining a calm outward exterior while internally he felt terrified. There was more at stake than their personal relationship and he needed his wife to see that, he needed the Captain to know it. “Who am I speaking with? In this ready room, it should be Captain Paris.”

Pivoting, Kate lifted her hand and struck Tom across the cheek. She’d never hit anyone in her life, she’d never been angry enough. “You had no right,” she fumed, immediately contrite but still seething. “How dare you! You had no right at sixteen, breaking into my confidential files and you have even less now.”

“That,” Tom remained infuriatingly composed, not moving a muscle at her sudden and out of character violence, “depends on your point of view.”

“And what point of view,” the Captain spat, eyes glittering, “am I supposed to be seeing?”

“What do you want to see?” Tom responded serenely, his blues eyes locked on her grey orbs.

“DO NOT PLAY THIS GAME WITH ME,” Kathryn’s tone became quiet and deadly. For the first time in their long and complex history, she couldn’t read him, couldn’t reach that part of Tom she’d always known and loved. The soft, ridiculous, incorrigible child-man that would bend to her will more often than not. Neither the Captain nor the wife had any idea what was going on in Commander Thomas Eugene Paris’s mind and it petrified both women. They had never seen Tom this determined, professional and indifferent.

“I’m not playing any games with you,” Tom continued in that placid tone, however his orbs shimmered as if chips of glacial ice. “I’m going my job, I’m protecting my wife, my Captain, her crew, this ship and the Prime Directive, in that order. I’m trained to use methods you don’t want to know about, Captain. I have been granted an office by the Tactical Officer as fits my rank and position with the requirements dictated by Starfleet protocols. I’m not going to ask for permission to speak freely, because in extreme circumstances, and believe me it will come to that in the next few months, you’re the one who might just be asking me. This tactic, it is just delaying the inevitable long enough for _Voyager_ to survive what’s coming.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Kathryn demanded.

“Article 3, section 56, subsection 2,” Tom stated, his voice remaining calm even if his body language had deteriorated to self-loathing. “I am acting under my own command in accordance with Starfleet Intelligence procedures on your vessel. I do not answer to anyone, even you, Capt. Paris, in matters that pertain to my current mission. I believe it will be better if you have the Quartermaster grant me my own lodgings from this point on and have me placed on the Gamma watch in opposition to you. That means I will lose the ability to pilot _Voyager_ being the highest-ranking officer on that duty shift, and as such I will need to take the bridge. I will be returning to my Intelligence uniform until I am satisfied any danger to this crew has ended. These changes will cause gossip, but that can’t be avoided. Otherwise, I’ll use my office if you don’t want this all over _Voyager_ in a matter of minutes. Am I dismissed, Captain?”

“You are not,” Kathryn’s ire suddenly left her. Sighing, she almost fell onto the couch. She understood her husband’s ultimatum only too well. His speech made the Captain understand Commander Paris was under as much strain as she, that there was information Tom wouldn’t share, even with his superior officer. His off-duty hours, obviously, were not spent in trivial pursuits but watching and assessing the crew. Suddenly, she had the notion that Tuvok not only knew about this, but was actively aiding Commander Paris with his endeavours. It made sense, the Tactical/Security Officer and the Intelligence Operative working together. Captain Paris just hated the fact she’d been left out of the loop for her own preservation. “Tom, what’s happening to us?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he responded, remaining stock still watching her every move. Tom hated himself, but he had to play by the rules the Captain had set. It was in the best interests of everyone, except himself.

“Just his afternoon,” Kathryn offered in a strange turn of personality, as if speaking to herself while once again angling her body to look out of the window apathetically, “or was it yesterday, I’ve lost time with the spatial distortion.” Waving her hand in the air as if it really didn’t matter, two hearts shattered in tandem at the listlessness of her reaction. This was not the woman either of them knew. “I sat in this very spot with a cup of coffee and had a conversation with myself. Captain Kathryn Paris of the Starship _Voyager_ in dialogue with Mrs. Kate Paris, loving wife of Tom for over ten years. You know what?” She turned suddenly, rising gracefully and facing the man before her, toe to toe. The look in her grey eyes softening as she reached out and touched the red mark on her husband’s cheek, even though she only came up to his chin. Both knew it to be an apology. “They agreed on two things. I will never revert to my maiden name and I won’t drive my husband away as I almost did when I served on _Billings_ , chasing that never-ending promotion, almost playing the ultimate price of everything important to me. I want to be seen as a woman, your wife, and I hope, one day a mother to our son and other children. My career is important to me, especially in this situation, but no more so than my heart. I’m going to get this ship home, if only for the very selfish reason of reuniting my own family.”

It was the one card both the Captain and the Wife could play that would affect Tom to his very core. And use it she did. The moment the words were out of her mouth, he took in a ragged breath. Their son lay between them, the child he’d wanted for six years. The child forming the main reason Commander Tom Paris would do anything to ensure they returned to the Alpha quadrant.

“No, don’t say anything,” she allowed the fingers to travel to his lips, resting them there lightly and using a voice just as soft and tender. “I know what you doing and why. I understand what lies ahead and how difficult it will be for all of us. Chakotay is being courted in every way you have allowed. The Maquis will take a little longer without Seska’s influence to plan and carryout an uprising. As the Captain, I’m proud you’ve placed yourself in this position, to protect every single person on this ship. As your wife, I’m furious but understand why you’ve done this terrible thing, betrayed my trust without really doing it. There are somethings that are just more important, that I want to get home for.”

“Your request for new quarters is denied, Commander. If you attempt to sleep in your office, I’ll join you. As your wife, I demand some small part of you, even if it is only in our quarters during the middle of the night as we pass between duty shift. You have permission to serve on the Gamma shift if the change is congruent with your current mission as an Intelligence Operative, however I would prefer you didn’t on a personal level. I will not have a member of my crew out of standard uniform, the lack of pips on your collar, Commander, is enough for every member of this vessel to know your true affiliation.”

“Kate,” Tom’s hand delicately moved her wrist while his eyes pleaded for forgiveness.

“We can get thought this, Tom,” Kathryn stated, finally allowing him the freedom to speak. “As you told Chakotay, we’ve each faced our daemons and passed those trials, even if they still haunt us on occasion.”

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he commented morosely. “If you can see what I’m doing, this will be no harder than it was on _Billings_ , with us working apart. When it’s all over, there will be time for us to heal from this.”

“I’m breaking my own rule and telling you how I feel,” Kate responded with a sad smile, “even if I’m as mad as hell at you for being so selfless. This is no easier for me, Tom, living between two women with vastly different perspectives and having to make compromises. But you were right when you said I need to keep a part of me, that part which is dependent on our relationship to maintain my sanity when the rest of the universe seems to be driving me mad. But, you need to do the same. You can’t be just an Intelligence officer when your also my husband. Out here, alone, we need each other more than ever. Maybe that’s why fate managed to get us on the same ship. We need to learn to manage a relationship of four people with competing needs, instead of the traditional two.”

Sighing, Tom offered, “we’ll speak more about this tonight, in my office.”

“No, you can erect a forcefield around out quarters as easily as your office if what needs to be said is classified or highly personal. Now you are dismissed, Commander,” Kathryn watched him leave, not sure exactly what just happened or how Tom felt after she’d pulled all her emotional punches. A shiver of apprehension cursed through her as she wondered what the future would bring. Something told her that worry had been a premonition of things to come.

Unable to face her crew, Captain Paris remained in her ready room reading reports. Something drew her to the overlooked medical account of Kes’s incarceration with the Kazon. It proved they’d caused her physical trauma in the attempt to uncover a way into the Ocampa underground City. Unlike the Cardassian’s they hadn’t resorted to more intimate forms of persuasion. While they seemed to treat women as second-class citizens in general, they had enough intellect to understand their sects couldn’t increase their population, often decimated by constant internal clashes, without their spouse’s cooperation. As such, women were sequestered on the home words and guarded well.

“Interesting,” Kathryn pondered this aspect of the Kazon culture and wondered if it was just the Ogla who thought this way. “We know so little about the people of this quadrant.”

With that thought, Captain Paris hit her com badge and called for Neelix to attend her ready room. She needed to prepare for what lay ahead. They had a long way to go, and the Talaxian’s knowledge might be their only saving grace. It was only after a sleepy voice answered, that Kathryn thought to look at the time. It was close to o four hundred and she’d woken Neelix.

_Just because I work around the clock in a crisis_ , the Captain grumbled, _doesn’t mean the entire crew needs to. On yellow alert only half the members are at their stations for double shifts. As soon as the repairs are started, I think it might be time to take a break and track down my resistant husband to continue our little chat._

Exiting from the Ready room, onto the bridge, Tom exited beside the Tactical station. His blue gaze flicking to the Vulcan Officer manning the station. They had been on yellow alert for the last sixteen hours, yet Tuvok didn’t looked as exhausted as Tom Paris felt.

“Commander,” offered the Security officer with the usual rise of his left eyebrow. Although his face remained impassive, the impression of worry seemed to cloud the man.

“Tuvok,” Tom acknowledged with a half-smile.

With that exchange, Commander Paris knew he had the complete support of at least one senior officer. A fortnight previously, they had met in Tuvok’s office and discussed the future of _Voyager_ , with regard to a Maquis insurrection both knew would eventuate. They laid down plans to combat Chakotay, force his loyalties towards the Captain and discussed the future of Seska. They’d agreed to co-author a holoprogram with every possibility and explore them in the coming weeks. The only incident not discussed with the Tactical officer had been Tom’s discussion with Chakotay on the Holodeck. The Intelligence officer in Commander Paris comprehended Tuvok inferring the truth from the _Al Batani_ scene because of his close relationship with the Captain. They had served together for more than twenty years and Kate had Tuvok as an academy lecturer.

“Commander Chakotay,” Tom stepped on the bridge’s mid-level beside the First officer. “I have run some changes to the Con rosters by the Captain. I’ll send you a copy for your approval.”

Acknowledging the comment, Chakotay watched Tom Paris exit the bridge. With the defeated look on the younger man’s face, he couldn’t decide if it demonstrated the Captain’s determination to control every aspect of her ship and crew, or the Intelligence Officers playing a very dangerous game. The answer arrived an hour. Kathryn Paris remained in her ready room while Commander Paris, logged onto his personal account in the Captains quarters, requested the First Officer accept the changes to the Con rosters.

_This_ , Chakotay contemplated, _hasn’t driven a wedge between them, yet, but the cracks are showing. Think it’s time Ayala and I had a little chat._


	17. Maquis Movement

“Ayala,” the former Maquis Captain slid into a seat beside the now Starfleet attired Ensign at one of the tables in the Officers Mess.

Chakotay, like Tuvok, remained on the bridge until the end of the Gamma shift, with Captain Pairs not stirring from her ready room after dressing down her husband. _Voyager_ , now one hundred thousand kilometres from the singularity, had repairs well underway. After another twenty-four-hour duty shift during a crisis, the First Officer was partaking of a cup of tea before retiring for a well-earned rest. However, he wanted to check in with the man he considered his right hand before retiring. Chakotay’s responsibilities as First Officer were placing him further and further from the people he most needed to consult.

“Commander,” offered Mike in reply with a sly smirk playing about his mobile lips. The quick nod of his head and gleam in his eyes sent a silent response to the unasked question. They would need to meet later and discuss their former crewmates.

“Has anyone come to you,” the First Officer requested in a quiet tone laced with innuendo, “with problems or issues?”

Shrugging easily, Mike answered. “A few. Mostly unable to live with the protocol. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I’m glad,” Chakotay gave a disarming smile. “How about an old-fashioned tennis match after your shift? All this easy living is making us lazy.”

“Seventeen hundred?” Ayala waited for conformation. “I know Dalby and O’Conner would like to play doubles. Hogan’s not much for ball sports, but he’ll come to cheer us on.”

“Anyone else?” Chakotay asked.

“Some,” Mike once again shrugged, “but they have the Beta shift. Maybe next time?”

“You’re on,” Chakotay turned the smile into a short chuckle, before rising with his cup and bidding the Ensign farewell.

Sauntering back to his quarters via the turbolift, the First Officer mulled over the facts he’d learnt since taking up his position on _Voyager_. Whatever occurred in the Captain’s Ready room a few hours previously, it hadn’t changed the fact Kathryn and Tom Paris were still sharing quarters. True, the cracks were starting to appear under the pressure caused by being married and both in command positions. With the changes Commander Paris made to the Con rosters they would be on different shifts for the next month giving the pair little time together as a couple. With Captain Paris constantly on duty from the start of the Alpha shift to crew changing onto the Gamma, alterations to the Con really wouldn’t make that much difference. Commander Paris had chosen the second Beta and first Gamma watch, giving Tom control of the bridge as the most senior officer.

_They are the times_ , Chakotay suddenly realised, _that neither Ayala nor I are on duty. If I remain on the bridge, it’s only for the first few hours of the Beta shift. Between Ayala and myself, we try to make time for the former Maquis crew to contact one of us at every hour of the day. Torres is a lousy stand in. Those engines have all her attention, just as Commander Paris intended. I’m not even sure she’d be interested in taking over the ship. I’ve had to warn her about the number of hours she works and force B’Elanna to take a day off._

_Who am I trying to convince. **I’m** not sure mutiny is such a good idea. Kathryn Paris **is** a good Captain, even if her approach is a little unconventional. I knew that even before her husband accosted me on the holodeck. If anyone can get us home, it’s that woman. Which means, we need to lay in wait until Voyager is close enough to the Alpha quadrant and take the ship for the Maquis. We can dump this Starfleet crew on some M class planet and let them call the Federation for help. I’d like to be at her trial, when Captain Paris explains how she lost Voyager to the Maquis!_

This decided, Chakotay fell into a deep slumber. On the Alpha shift, Ensign Mike Ayala joined his partner, crewman Chris Hanna for duty in the brig. Technically Ayala was the senior officer, however, he’d not yet earnt the trust of Mr. Tuvok. Yet this assignment proved his status was increasing in the Vulcan Security Officers estimation. Hanna was another matter altogether. Although they worked well together, Ayala remained stoic, as was his nature.

“Ayala,” Chris greeted the well-built man, before returning to reading the previous shifts log entries. “Looks like our prisoner’s had a quiet night.”

Nodding his only answer, Mike took up his station. Glaring into the cell, he noticed Seska’s skin had taken on a grey hue. The diamond shaped indentation in the middle of her forehead was starting to show. Gone were the Bajoran nose ridges and her eyes had become sunken with the overhanging brow. She looked more Cardassian now. Even the menacing glare in her eyes proved her personality was transforming with her appearance.

“What are you looking at Ayala?” Seska demanded with a low growl.

Seska hated living in a fish bowl, where the security officers could watch her whenever they chose. Even the personal hygiene room wasn’t completely private. The Cardassian in her riled at the insult, watching and waiting for her chance at revenge. She knew it to be a sad hope at best. Her energies were best put to better uses. After all, she’d formed an alliance of sorts with Maj Jabin of the Kazon-Ogla. They’d attacked _Voyager_ above that dust ball the Ocampa called home without touching _Val Jean_. If Chakotay hadn’t been so spineless and left Torres to her fate on the Federation ship, they’d now be parsecs away, possibly in the Alpha quadrant with the aid of the Caretaker and the Kazon would have replicators and transporters. With the Ogla’s new abilities, and her advice, they would have ruled this sector, resulting in Seska being lightyears closer to Cardassia Prime.

A slow smile crept onto Mike’s lips, which infuriated the woman behind the force field. He could almost read the very subtle reactions crossing her closed expression. They’d been on the same ship for nearly three years. Ayala took an instant dislike to Seska when she came aboard _Liberty_. He liked her even less when Locarno started pointing out her inconsistent behaviour on _Val Jean_. The woman’s sudden relationship with Chakotay was the final straw. He’d been watching her closely, his instincts on high alert but she’d been careful enough not to leave proof of her true allegiance.

“I should have known,” Seska spat, crossing her arms over her chest and taking up a defensive stance, “with your Starfleet training you’d roll over. You and Chakotay are the same. Neither of you have the courage to go against your precious Prime Directive, even though you’re not in Starfleet anymore.”

Ayala stepped closer to the cell and felt Hanna’s gaze narrow onto him. Still he remained silent, his posture relaxed and a smirk on his face. Seska had never known how to take him and it worked in Mike’s favour.

“You know, we could have been back in the Alpha quadrant,” the woman teased, “if Captain Paris hadn’t destroyed the array. It’s not as if the Prime Directive applied in this situation. Think about it, if _Voyager_ and _Val Jean_ hadn’t been dragged half way across the galaxy, the Caretaker would have died a natural death. The Ogla would have found a way into the Ocampan city and onto the array making them the most powerful sect in this region of space.”

“So, giving them transporter and replicator technology would achieve the same goal?” Ayala asked, his tone remaining furiatingly soft and low.

“You would have been back in the arms of your wife, playing with your sons,” Seska tormented. “Now you have the next seventy-five years to imagine who Marla ran to for comfort.”

Taking a step closer to the cell, Mike’s smile widened. He had not been affected by the taunt, at least outwardly. “It was always a possibility in the Maquis, that I wouldn’t come home. Marla and my boys knew it. We all took the risks gladly. Well, maybe except for you. This,” Ayala pointed to her now grey skin and other physiological changes, “explains a lot. You know, Locarno, or Paris, wasn’t wrong about you.”

“That traitor,” Seska smirked. “I knew there was a Federation spy in the Maquis. I’d been searching for months.”

“And he was right under your nose,” Mike snickered. “There’s an old saying, Seska, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It must have been a trial for Chakotay to sleep with you, to pretend to be your lover when he despised you as much as the rest of us.”

Her eyes narrowing, Ayala turned and marched back to the Security desk without waiting for Seska’s venomous response. His display had been as much for Hanna’s benefit as the Cardassian infiltrator. He wasn’t above planting the idea that he, Paris and Chakotay had suspected Seska’s loyalties for many months. His quiet demeanour allowed the big man to stand in plain sight, listening to everything going on around him. The fact he’d made it through Starfleet Academy bespoke his intelligence, which was often overlooked and undervalued.

Right now, Michael Ayala knew it was not time for a mutiny. If he and Chakotay hadn’t been truly accepted into the officer’s confidences, then the crew members would take even longer to warm to the former Maquis draftees. Most of his friends were having problems adjusting to the strict rules and regulations. There hadn’t been a day when at least two former Maquis approached him with some problem or the other. Chakotay schedule left little time and his position as First Officer had become intimidating to his former crew, especially as he now had one hundred and twenty odd Fleeter’s to manage. Torres had taken to protocol as if born to it, probably because she was the head of her department and therefore made many of the rules. B’Elanna worked sixteen to twenty-hour days, getting to know her engines as if they were her babies. It hadn’t been any different on _Liberty_ or _Val Jean_. Few would have approached her in the Maquis with their problems, they were even less likely on _Voyager_.

_Which leaves me_ , Mike sighed internally. _Hogan and Seska were the only others who’d served with the Maquis for any length of time and had Chakotay’s trust. Seska’s showed her true colours. While Hogan’s a great guy, he’s not the engineer that Torres is and not officer material. He’s the only one I haven’t heard a complaint from. It seems working in Engineering with B’Elanna has been a protective factor for those Maquis she demanded join **her** crew._

_I can finally see the similarities between Torres and Captain Paris. Both women are determined, intelligent, focused and as stubborn as hell. I can understand why Paris formed a close bond with Torres while undercover, she must have reminded him of his wife. With B’Elanna’s sense of honour, even if she declares everything Klingon is worthless posturing, she’d never go after a married man. Besides, the Captain doesn’t seem the jealous type, probably because she’s so secure in her relationship with Paris. While serving together might cause some problems, I get the feeling it will never break their personal bond._

_Which leaves the Maquis where? The time’s not right to take command of Voyager. Our crew don’t have the access or knowledge they need. We need to wait for a time when were closer to the Alpha quadrant. I hope Chakotay’s come to the same conclusion. Maybe together we can convince the others, especially when I tell them about Seska’s duplicity. We might have used the tactic of laying low while a Federation vessel was attacked by the Cardassian’s, but to withhold help when Voyager was being attacked by the Kazon is vindictive, especially when we are the only Alpha quadrant ships within seventy thousand light years._

The remainder of the watch passed easily if not quickly. Between them, Hanna and Ayala passed a dozen words before their relief came. They separated at the turbolift, Hanna heading to the Enlisted mess on deck ten, and Ayala to send an invitation to the tennis match this afternoon to Hogan, Dalby and O’Conner.

Chakotay woke to the sound of his alarm at sixteen thirty hours. It gave him time for a replicated cup of tea before changing into shorts and a t-shirt and proceeding to the holodeck. He’d booked two hours under his name. When he entered, a tennis program was running. Faced with seventeen former Maquis, word had obviously spread quickly and easily. It was something Chakotay would have to remember.

“Chell wants to play the winner,” Bandera shouted over the sound of a ball being hit between protagonists. “He asked if the next match could be held after his shift is over.”

“Sure,” Chakotay smiled easily. It felt good to be with so many of his former crew in this environment. On the rare occasion they put down for major repairs, the crew were granted Liberty. Even then, they tended to stay close.

“Chakotay,” Ayala called the man over to the group surrounding him. As the match continued, the rest gathered around, understanding something important was going down. It didn’t take Mike long to rehash the conversation he’d had with Seska that morning. To say the crew had turned against the woman was an understatement. They now considered her worse than Locarno who turned out to be Commander Paris, a Federation plant.

“She was going to let the Kazon destroy _Voyager_ and leave them with Federation technology?” Chakotay asked, after holding up a hand for silence. He needed to be sure he’d understood Mike Ayala’s information.

“Yes, and still would, if she’s able to get out of the brig,” Ayala offered.

“Let me at her,” Dalby growled.

“No,” Chakotay responded. Only yesterday he’d leant of Seska’s future. He took the time to inform those present that she was to be tried under Federation Law once they reached the Alpha quadrant as Seska had refused to join the crew of _Voyager_.

“She’s going to spend the next however many years it takes to get home in the brig?” Demanded Dana Hallows, the only female to attend their impromptu meeting.

“Captain Paris has offered to put Seska off with any species willing to take her after full disclosure of her crimes,” Chakotay offered.

“What crimes?” Lon Suder asked in his usual monotone. “I can’t see anything, besides being a Cardassian spy that would interest the Maquis.”

Many voices rose to agree. Chakotay called for quiet, and they crowd turned towards him. “We agreed to serve on a Starfleet vessel, under Starfleet regulations. Therefore, destruction of Federation property is considered an offence. Chell and Oden have been punished for their part in the aborted mutiny and the matter is now considered closed.”

This brought several murmurs. Initially, when the two men had been released, it caused friction but didn’t break out into dissention between the two crews, most probably because _Voyager_ was scrambling to get a far away from the Kazon as fast as possible. That both took their punishment easily, getting on with their assigned tasks had helped. A few grumbled that Chell should still be locked up for his cooking. Ayala, for once, silenced everyone with his quip about Neelix’s creations and he’d swap places anytime they wanted Leola root. At least Chell refused to serve the Delta quadrant vegetable in the enlisted mess.

“I think we should schedule tennis matches every ten days, rotating through the shifts,” Chakotay brought the meeting to a close fifteen minutes before his time was up. He didn’t want everyone leaving together. It would create a spectacle and the First Officer didn’t want Tuvok or Paris discovering their covert gathering. “Either Ayala or I will be here. I want to hear anything, know what’s going on in your sections. Ayala will keep us updated on Seska but I want you all to continue doing what you’re doing. Integrate, make friends, get to know your positions, take on responsibilities. When the time is right, we’ll move.”

“What about the Kazon?” demanded one voice that sounded like Jonas.

“There’s a reason Seska approached them,” Mike Ayala stated in a low growl. “They’re as bad as the Cardassian’s. If we give them what they want, the people in this sector will be little better off than your families in the DMZ. Prime Directive aside, do you really want to create another Cardassia Prime?”

On that thought, the meeting disbanded. Leaving in groups of two and three, they talked about the match between Dalby and O’Conner. The former had lost in straight sets. They looked forward to the next scheduled match between Chell and Hogan, who appeared to be more evenly matched. It seemed Hogan had kept his talent for the sport hidden.

In the holoprogramming lab, Commander Paris sat and observed. He’d known of Chakotay’s meeting with Ayala this morning through Neelix. The Talaxian continued to be verbally incompetent, giving away valuable information to the Intelligence operative without knowing. It hadn’t taken Tom long to find the Holodeck booking and arrange to use the Hololab at the same time. Watching while fine turning the enhancements to the Sandrine’s program, he added in coding to pick up particular words and phrases, sending the alerts to his computer terminal in his office. Commander Tom Paris wanted to be ready for every eventuality, even though the chance of mutiny by Chakotay was statically decreasing. The probability of Seska’s escaping had significantly increased. Tom needed to stop any attempt to break her out of the brig. If she managed to contact or join the Kazon, _Voyager_ would be in trouble. Cardassian tactics with Seska’s knowledge of Federation technology and protocols wouldn’t end well.

“Paris to Captain Paris,” he comm’ed.

“Go ahead,” Kathryn responded in a sleepy tone.

“I’ll be home soon,” Tom offered easily, yet she’d know the tone in his voice carried a warning. They needed to talk and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Good, I’ve been wanting for you since o four hundred. Captain out,” Kathryn signed off.

_Time to pay the piper_ , Tom told himself internally. He’d been avoiding his wife since their blow up in her ready room early this morning. There really hadn’t been anything further either could say. They needed time to cool down and consider the duality of their responsibilities, to the crew and each other. _No one said serving on the same ship as your spouse would be easy, especially under the current conditions. Yet, it’s what’s occurred. Let’s hope we can get through this without doing too much damage to our marriage. The one thing I’m not willing to give up is Kate’s love, cause I’m sure as hell not going to stop loving her. We just have to work though this, making sure our relationship is rock solid. The rest, we’ll work out as we go._


	18. Time and Again

“Hi, Honey, I’m home,” Tom called brazenly into their quarters the moment the door slid open. He hoped the silly greeting might put his wife in a better mood.

Fear started low in his belly when Tom couldn’t hear Kate and the lights were at twenty-five percent. He’d seen this behaviour before, when her guilt took hold and she couldn’t shake it. Following his instinct and nose, he found her in the bath tub with her favourite rose scented neo-candles alight and bubbles to her neck. The candles weren’t made of old-fashioned wax with a wick because fire on a space going vessel was forbidden by Starfleet regulations. Instead they’d been the last birthday present from her loving husband before he commenced the most dangerous mission of his life. Both the candles and bath were a luxury she’d fought to include in the Captain’s cabin when commissioning _Voyager_. Personally, Tom wondered how many times his wife used the tub while he’d been with the Maquis. He understood Kate used the warmth and smell when particularly tense or upset.

“Well,” Tom crossed his legs and arms in the door jamb while his face brightened. The fact he’d found Kate relaxing after ignoring her for a day meant they were at least in an uneasy truce. Personally, Thomas Paris hoped it signified his wife’s forgiveness.

“You are wearing too much to join me,” Kate managed, her eyes still closed and tone sleepy.

_She’d not guilt ridden or angry, which is a good sign_ , Tom watched with a slight smile beginning to light his features. “Please tell me you haven been in there since I comm’ed you half an hour ago,” Tom teased.

“Guilty,” she stated, finally opening one eye and gauging the mood of her husband. It seemed the guilt had been there, but kept in check. “Get in here, Tom. I have plans for you and they have nothing to do with the world outside our quarters.”  
  


“Yes, Ma’am.”

If there was an award for getting out of a uniform in record time, Commander Thomas Eugene Paris would have won it hands down. What followed caused the water and bubbles to cascade over the edge of the filled-to-the-brim tub. Captain Kathryn Paris had become relaxed in her bath prior to her husband’s attentions, she was completely boneless after. Tom wrapped her in a towel and carried her to their bed. Spooned in each other arms, they finally talked.

“This is our haven,” Kate sighed, one hand stroking Tom’s protectively draped over her stomach.

“It has to be that way, Kate,” Tom agreed. “No discussion about our jobs or _Voyage_ r, the decisions we have to make outside this room. This is ours.”

“We leave those persona’s outside the door,” she agreed. “The Captain and Commander don’t belong in here. We’re just Kate and Tom Paris.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” her husband responded, lifting himself up onto an elbow to watch his wife’s expressions. “There are times one of us is going to need to emotionally debrief.”

“I know your signs, Tom,” Kate smiled. “You’re nothing if not persistent.”

“I got you,” he grinned. “That took more than persistence. I told you’d end up as my wife.”

“Tom,” Kathryn swatted his hand, “you were barely seventeen at the time.”

“So, it took me four years and nine months to convince you,” Tom continued to tease. “But I got the girl in the end.”

“Well this more mature girl knows you have to be on duty in an hour,” Kathryn sighed. “I approved your changes to the Con rosters before going off duty. I don’t like them. We’re not going to have much time together for the next month.”

“Three of four hours after o four hundred,” Tom responded, a sad frown covering his lips. “You know I wouldn’t ask for this, unless it was imperative.”

“I’m going to have to trust you,” the Captain sighed louder this time, “until you’re ready, aren’t I?”

“Let’s just say, the possibility of Chakotay and Ayala starting a mutiny in the next few months is decreasing rapidly,” Tom stated with a careless shrug.

“But,” once again it was the Captain who spoke.

“But, I’ll inform the Captain of any issues when they become relevant to the functioning of her ship,” Commander Paris responded. Quickly turning into Tom, he smirked. “Right now, I have to kiss my wife and get dressed for duty. I wouldn’t want to earn the Captain’s wrath for being late for my watch after piloting us out of that singularity.”

“Have you had any sleep?” Kathryn demanded, finally looking into fatigued blue eyes.

“About as much as you’ll get before returning to the bridge,” Tom retorted. “Don’t worry, Kate, I’ll catch up tomorrow.”

Searching the holodeck logs while seated in the big chair his first night on the late Beta watch, Commander Paris found the booking under crewman Chell’s name. It coincided with his return to full privileges after aiding Seska with her attempted mutiny. It seemed the tennis matches were the code the Maquis chose to use for their clandestine meetings. This assembly was scheduled for the start of the Gamma shift, when the Bolian got of duty in nine days-time. Checking his duty roster, Tom reserved the second half of his watch for routine maintenance at the same time. He’d learn nothing new from the Maquis gathering, but would continue to observe and wait.

The intervening days proved quiet. _Voyager_ , according to Mr. Neelix, had passed from the Kazon-Ogla territory into the sphere of the Kazon-Halik in the fourth week of their journey back to the Alpha quadrant. They had water but metals were in short supply. If the sect knew of their presence, they would happily destroy the Federation Vessel for raw materials. Better armed and with more space worthy ships, they might cause issue for _Voyager_. Calling her Chief Con and Chief Engineering Officers into a meeting after dismissing Neelix, Captain Paris prepared to take a more torturous route far from the Halik’s main populous centres.

“It’s not going to add more than a week to our total journey time,” Tom shrugged easily, not seeing this as a problem. They’d just make up the time at some point. “Especially if we’re left alone to go on our way. A skirmish could cost _Voyager_ a lot more in terms of damage.”

“And my engines won’t get ravaged,” B’Elanna stood in the ready room, arms defensively crossed over her chest with a look of determination on her face. “Which means we won’t have to use resources to fix them and then find somewhere to restock.”

“Make it so Mr. Paris,” the Captain ordered, keeping her deep sigh internalised. Any delay, Kathryn felt, reflected on her personally and started the guilt cycle once again. “I want to know if there are any M class planets we can trade with along the way. If anyone settled this region, it would be in the safer areas we’re going to travel through. Dismissed, Lt. Torres. I’d like a word with you about the next round of Con rosters’ Commander.”

“Don’t change them just yet,” Tom requested the moment the door had closed. It had been almost a week and, although he missed Kate, Commander Paris had a mission to complete. “I need at least two or three weeks to accomplish my goals, Captain.”

Nodding, Kathryn sat back into her chair and studied the man before her. Both had kept to their new routine. They were Starfleet Officers everywhere but in their quarters. Due to the lack of time together, they hadn’t been back to Sandrine’s, although Kathryn remembered the stolen night fondly. Neither had a day off scheduled in the next week. If Tom wasn’t on the bridge, he secluded himself in his office or the holoprogramming lab. Not knowing what her husband was up to infuriated the Captain and saddened his wife. Somehow, she knew Tom was putting himself in danger to protect her ship and its crew.

A fortnight later, Commander Tom Paris returned to the Alpha shift at his wife’s insistence. The night before, the Intelligence officer had been accosted on his way from his secret office to his quarters. He’d staggered into their quarters at a quarter after four. As their time together was limited, he usually returned home at the first opportunity. Kathryn knew something was wrong the moment he stepped through the door.

“Captain to transporter room two. Medical emergency. Beam myself and Commander Paris directly to sick bay,” she ordered.

“He has a concussion,” the EMH reported to an anxious Captain after examining his patient. “Thankfully, Mr. Paris has a hard head and there was little damage done. There are other signs of trauma but no defensive wounds. I have healed the bruises and sprains; however, the underlying and poorly attended breaks are a worry. I have done the best I can to fix the Commander.”

“What do you mean?” Kathryn turned into a wife, even if the Captain understood the reference. It seemed Tom had taken on more dangerous missions than even she realised.

“Some of these injuries go back six years,” the EMH confirmed Kathryn Paris’s suspicions.

“How soon can I take my husband back to our quarters?” she demanded.

“I’ll keep the Commander overnight for observation,” the doctor stated carelessly.

“Kate,” Tom’s hoarse voice called out from the biobed.

“I’m here,” she rushed to his side. “Tom, who did this to you?”

“Paris seclusion Alpha one.” Once the force field was erected, Commander Paris finally spoke. “Two Maquis, two Fleet,” he managed to focus on his wife’s face, lifting a hand to her cheek.

“Four on one,” she turned into the Captain in an instant, brushing aside the gesture, “hardly a fair fight.”

“Kate, no reprisals. I need them to feel safe,” Tom pleaded. “They are just angry, not the one’s I’m after.”

“Who are you after?” Demanded the enraged woman.

“The ones who will betray _Voyager_ ,” his voice was becoming quieter with each passing word, “who will contact the Kazon and try to trade technology for safe passage. The one’s who will let Seska out of her cage. If the Kazon get hold of her tactics and information….”

Finally understanding the threat would come from within, Chakotay’s warning in her ready room finally made sense. Tom was on a mission, one that might force him to leave the safety of _Voyager_. Only his laps in conscious thought allowed the Captain and wife a glimpse into the professional character and ethics of Intelligence Commander Thomas Eugene Paris. He was the polar opposite to her husband, and kept this persona locked safely away. Shuddering, Kate Paris wondered what Tom had to do in his career, how much he couldn’t tell her and what the scars meant.

“I want a full report on the Commander’s injuries, present and past,” Captain Paris ordered, retreating from her husband’s side to consider this new information. “I want it coded at the highest level of security, for my eyes only. For whatever reason, Commander Paris does not want this event made public and I agree. For his protection, I will allow the force field to remain until Tom’s ready to deactivate it.”

This event did not change Kate’s working hours, or Tom’s extra circular activities. He had insisted if they were to work the Alpha shift together, that once a week, she finish when he did. Today was that day. Handing over the helm to his relief, Tom offered to the bridge crew, “holding course three five one mark one zero, warp seven. We'll be passing a red dwarf system in forty minutes. I can't tell you if there are any M-class planets.”

“Very good, Mr. Paris,” the Captain offered, watching her husband prepare to stand and approach her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tom couldn’t stop the grin erupting onto his face as he used his stool to spin towards the mid bridge.

Before he could take a step from the con, _Voyager_ rocked. Without a second thought, Tom returned to his station. The deck below his feet continued to shake as his fingers danced over the console. Finally, the ship steadied.

“Report!” demanded the Captain. She had also returned to her chair, preparing to continue her duty shift until this issue was sorted.

“We're at the leading edge of a shockwave,” Tuvok responded, watching his board.

“Minor hull breach on deck three,” Harry called, waiting for the internal sensors to activate the structural integrity systems. “Contained. Shields are holding.”

“Engineering is undamaged, Captain,” Torres voice echoed over the comm. In such situations, the emergency channel to B’Elanna’s com badge activated. “All systems operational.”

“Mr. Paris,” Kathryn questioned, “can you identify the source of the wave?”

“Scanners are picking up a debris cloud in the red dwarf system we're approaching,” Tom responded. “We should be in sensor range in ten minutes.”

“Increase speed to warp nine point five,” Kathryn ordered, calculating the time it would take to reach their new destination with the increased velocity. “Slow to impulse when we reach orbit.”

“The cloud consists of differentially charged polaric ions, Captain,” Tuvok offered after running an in-depth sensor sweep. At this speed, information on the system increased as they closed in. In a few minutes, they would reach the heliopause.

That brought a frown to the scientist in Captain Paris. “Differentially charged? That would suggest a massive detonation.”

The turbolift opened, depositing Kes and Neelix on the bridge. Neither had been called, nor were they required in _Voyagers_ command centre during a crisis. Yet, their appearance gave Kathryn Paris the option of new information.

“Are you familiar with any intelligent life forms in this system, Mr. Neelix?” the Captain asked, looking to the Talaxian for any data. She wondered why the pair suddenly appeared, and, more particularly, what the expression on Kes’s face meant.

“Familiar? Not exactly familiar,” Neelix started to procrastinate.

“Entering orbit, Captain,” Tom cut the man off. It was obvious he didn’t know anything. “Deflectors at maximum. We're within visual range of the surface.”

“I had a dream,” Kes offered quietly. She’d come to stand beside Captain Paris. “A million people cried out at once, as if their world were being destroyed.”

On the screen sat a grey, cratered ball that had once been a living planet. Everyone stared, wondering how the radiation, the shock wave and this dead world occurred. It was obvious whatever happened devastated every living thing. Increasing magnification, they saw the shattered remains of cities and the end of a civilization.

Twenty-four hours later, only the Captain remembered the occurrences of the last day. Of the many events, meeting the child Lakota, having Tom wear a skirt over his pants while she could go about in trousers, the terrorist group hoping to stop their worlds reliance on Polaric Energy, one incident would remain when the others had faded. Her husband, trying to protect her, laying on the ground after being shot with a primitive projectile weapon, clutching his bleeding abdomen, all the while insisting she complete their mission, only to find her crew had caused the devastating detonation.

“Holding course three five one mark one zero, warp seven,” Commander Paris’s hands became still on his console as a sudden wave of nausea over took him. In his mind’s eye, Tom felt the memories from Markov assault his conscious. Allowing one hand to stray to the back of his head in the hope of relieving the sudden pressure, the images started to fade almost as quickly as they came. Spinning his seat around to face the Captain, Kate had a most peculiar expression on her face.

“Are you ready, Mr. Paris?” Kathryn almost leapt from her chair, anxiety causing her expression to become closed to everyone but her husband. She knew Tom was experiencing the same events.

Without a word, but many pairs of eyes following them, Captain and Commander Paris left the bridge in silence. The atmosphere had changed, abruptly and irrevocably, a few moments earlier. The two had been softly flirting for the last hour. Everyone knew tonight was something Tom Paris referred to as ‘Date Night’. It took the Captain to explain her husband’s love of all things late twentieth century for understanding to dawn. No one wanted to question what occurred in the last few seconds, causing both the Paris’s to all but run from the bridge.

“You remember,” it was a statement from Captain Kathryn Paris. She’d waited until the turbolift doors closed before uttering the words that would make her memories tangible.

Nodding, Tom offered, “deck six.” Turning to his wife, he laced his fingers through hers. “It’s fading, fast. There are just fragments left. But, the image of you, leaving me to die…”

“I’m not sure I want to remember that!” Kate exclaimed, looking deeply into Tom’s blue eyes. Her emotions close to the surface, both the Captain and the wife allowed their vulnerabilities to show. Neither wanted to lose the man standing before them. Yet it was a real possibility at some time in the future.

“We have to take it as some kind of sign,” Tom continued, knowing Kate didn’t want to hear his words. “There might come a time when one of us is forced to choose _Voyager_ over the life of the other. I think that’s what this experience was trying to teach us, why the universe chose the two of us to step through that subspace portal. At least you know you can do it, Captain, walk away from your husband and put the lives of everyone on this ship first. I was proud of you, Kate, and hopeful that you’d get home in time for our son even if I couldn’t. If anything like that should happen again, promise me you’ll leave me for his sake.”

“It’s not a decision,” Kathryn stated acidly, “I ever want to make.”

“Neither do I,” Tom agreed mournfully, yet both knew it to be a very real possibility.

They approached the holodeck in silence, Commander Paris changing his mind about the program he’d prepared for their night out. Together they walked into Sandrine’s, found a secluded table for two and ordered a stiff drink. Beneath the surface, their hands remained linked, their bodies squashed together and their eyes on the other, expressing themselves as only a long-married couple, who know each other well, can do. It took two rounds before the conversation started, haltingly at first, then with more passion. They needed this emotional escape in a space that was not their quarters. By silent agreement, whenever one or both required the time and freedom to vent their feelings, they would visit this restricted version of the Sandrine’s program.

“Time to play pool,” Kathryn finally allowed a soft, sad smile to cover her lips, “and beats the pants off you.”

“You can beat me all you like,” Tom teased in return, “but you’re not getting my pants off until were in our quarters.”

“Winner gets to choose,” Kathryn stated blandly, downing the last of her drink as a challenge.

Grinning, Tom couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his throat. “You’re on.”

The game turned out to be closer than any they’d ever played, Tom missing his shot on the black and handing the game to his wife. Kathryn Paris would never know it if was deliberate. She’d always remember the first time they made love on the Pool table. It wouldn’t be the last.


	19. Prime Directive

_Personal log, Stardate 48546.2. Our journey home is several weeks old now, and I have begun to notice in my crew and in myself, a subtle change as the reality of our situation settles in. Here in the Delta Quadrant, we are virtually the entire family of man._

Just after midnight found the Captain wandering the near empty hallways of _Voyager_. Tom had been on the late Beta/early Gamma shift for almost three weeks and she missed her husband more each night. After their initial settling in period, they’d developed a comfortable routine. Now six weeks into their journey home, the former Maquis were still learning their place and the Starfleet personnel coping with teaching untrained but tried recruits while still doing their duty.

_We are more than a crew and I must find a way to be more than a Captain to these people, but it's not clear to me exactly how to begin. I have spoken about this with my husband, Commander Thomas Paris, who has many ideas but none that appeal to me. Tom’s speciality is Intelligence, often achieving missions alone allowing him to cope better with this situation. Commander Tuvok, who has been my counsel for many years suggests getting to know the crew. Under the circumstances I find this even more difficult to achieve, although my husband would actively approach the task with enthusiasm._

Smiling, Kathryn recollected the evening they’d spent with Harry Kim and B’Elanna Torres at Sandrine’s. Stepping into the turbolift, she called for deck eleven. Strolling down yet another near empty corridor, the Captain approached Engineering.

_At the Academy, we are taught that a captain is expected to maintain a certain distance. Until now, I've always been comfortable with that distance. Out here, I only have Tom and Tuvok._

“Captain,” B’Elanna’s shocked expression stated her unease at seeing the superior officer still on duty and prowling around the ship, “I didn't realise there was an inspection scheduled.”

A slight smile creased the corner of Kathryn’s lips. Midnight and her Chief Engineer was still hard at work. _I think Lt. Torres is the only other person who works as hard as me!_ “Not an inspection, B’Elanna,” the Captain offered straightforwardly, hoping to put her engineer at ease. Kathryn use of the woman’s name to create an atmosphere of comfort only increased Lt. Torres disquiet. “Just a stroll. Tom’s on duty.”

That seems to break the ice between the women. “Oh,” B’Elanna finally allowed a the very merest hint of a smile. “He used to come down to engineering on _Val Jean_ late at night sometimes,” she spoke while watching the Captain’s reactions, “just to speak about you because he couldn’t sleep. He missed you.”

“As I did him,” Kathryn said, nodding with appreciation at the small snippet of information.

Taking the ladder down to the lower level, Lt. Torres came to stand by the Captain. “He’s a good man and an even better officer. I might have made a play for Tom myself, if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his wife.”

“Always good to know,” Kathryn chuckled. The one thing she absolutely knew, her husband would never stray. Tom loved her too much. “Now, B’Elanna, what are you still doing here at midnight?”

“I could ask you the same question,” the Engineer crossed her arms and their easy banter disappeared.

“At least your baby, Tom’s words, not mine,” and the feeling of comradery was back with a few words and a finger pointing towards the warp core. Captain Paris suddenly knew how to connect with her crew, through her husband and his irrepressibly childish antics. “Is always here to comfort you.”

“Tom might appear irresponsible and self-indulgent,” Torres agreed, “but he proved to be one of the hardest working members of _Val Jean’s_ crew. It’s just that Paris didn’t advertise everything he did, like the replicator rationing system. I see how much he does on _Voyager_ and how little some of the crew trust him.”

“That sounds like my husband,” Kathryn smirked. “How about we both go off duty for the night?”

“I hear Sandrine’s is an open program running constantly in Holodeck one,” B’Elanna stated, watching carefully for the Captain’s reaction.

With a nod, the two women headed for the turbolift and deck six. It was the same night Tom had been accosted by four crewmen and ended up in sickbay overnight. He returned to the Alpha shift without time to heal from his injuries. Six days later Captain and Commander Paris were to have their first date night. It had been interrupted by Markov’s Polaric non-explosion.

“Bridge to Captain,” Chakotay’s dulcet tone infused from her comm badge.

  
“What now,” Captain Paris muttered under her breath as she was getting dressed for their second attempt at date night. Tom insisted on skiing in the European Alps. He’d spent hours on the programming to make the event perfect. “Yes, Commander?” Kathryn touched the device on her chest, wondering what could have occurred in the last hour.

“I just wanted to alert you to a nebula we've picked up on long range sensors,” the First Officer reported. “Commander Tuvok has detected unusually high levels of omicron particles.”

“Are you thinking we could collect these omicron particles to provide an additional antimatter reserve,” Kathryn asked, her scientific mind working rapidly.

Power supplies weren’t at critical levels, yet. _Voyager_ was a vessel designed for short range missions within Federation Space. They’d been stocked for four months on leaving Deep Space 9. Yet, if they could collect additional antimatter, the warp core could produce more output for non-propulsion purposes and rationing could be lessened. It took vast amounts of energy to create the fuel source for the Warp core and they didn’t know when or where it would be available in the Delta quadrant.

“I believe that was Commander Tuvok’s recommendation,” Chakotay’s smile oozed through the comm. Even he’d come to understand the Captain’s reliance on caffeine in her daily routine. “I believe there might be coffee in that nebula.”

Opening her comm to ship wide dispersal, Captain Kathryn Paris ordered, “senior bridge officers, report for duty.” Once on the bridge, she didn’t need to tell Tom, “Commander, set a new course,” but did anyway, with a bounce in her step and smirk on her face.

“I know,” he huffed teasingly while changing the vessels direction, “there's coffee in that nebula.”

“Well,” Kathryn sighed, relaxing in her tub while her husband sat on the side massaging her tense shoulders, “that didn’t go as expected.”

Thomas Paris knew when to remain quiet. Now was one of those times. Energy was at critical levels, the creature had drained Voyager’s reserves. They’d been lucky to escape. B’Elanna was furious, Chakotay and the rest of the crew angry their rations had been cut further by the Captain’s need for coffee. It seemed Tom’s quip had been misinterpreted by the former Maquis on the bridge during the alert. They though Kate was being selfish, which just proved how little they knew their Captain. Yet he felt responsible. It had been his ill-timed jibe that caused the current rumours.

Later that night, while pretending to be asleep, Commander Paris heard his wife dictating an addendum to her log. It made him want to cry. Instead Tom climbed out of bed, padding softly across the living room, before coming to stand beside her. Once again taking her shoulders in his warm hands, Tom applied pressure where she most needed it.

_Captain's Log, supplemental. We set out to augment our energy reserves and wound up depleting them by over twenty percent. As a result, we've set a new course for a planet fourteen light years away that Neelix says might have compatible energy sources to offer us. It is out of our way, but circumstances offer few alternatives. So much for raising spirits._

“Assuming we do find dilithium on this planetoid,” Kathryn sighed heavily as she entered her quarters after another day in the Delta quadrant, “we're going to need a refining facility on the ship to process it.”

“Let me guess,” Tom placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders, ready to remove her jacket. By detaching the Starfleet issued uniform, Captain Paris became Kate, so the sooner Mr. Paris managed to get his wife undressed, the sooner they’d be done with ships business. “B’Elanna wants to make modifications to the auxiliary impulse reactor. What,” the Commander shrugged his shoulders with a look of innocence while his wife turned her famous glare on him, “I overheard Chakotay discussing it with Torres before they approached you.”

“Lt. Torres wasted no time in going to Commander Chakotay with her plan after the fiasco last week. Apparently, it could be converted into a crude dilithium refinery,” Kate finally gave up her outer covering, allowing Tom to throw it onto the nearest chair before he tugged at her turtle neck. “Sometimes I think our Chief Engineer goes out of her way to find solutions that ignore Starfleet procedures and protocols.”

“Well,” Tom shrugged out of his own top, pulling the utilitarian grey garment with it, “right now I know someone else who’s going out of her way to find means to ignore the fact my wife shouldn’t be taking about _Voyager_ in our quarters.”

Ramping up her death stare, Kathryn Paris signed. “So, what are we supposed to talk about, Mr. Paris?” When Tom didn’t answer, Mrs. Paris felt she’d won this round. Until she felt her husband’s lips behind her right ear, nibbling a path down to her neck. “Do you ever think of anything else?”

“Rarely,” Tom stated mockingly. “You should feel gratified that I still find you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known after all these years.”

“Gratified,” Kathryn echoed. Internally her heart sped up while a pleasant warmth seeped from her abdomen. Somehow Tom managed to get her out of her singlet and pants, leaving her standing in the middle of the living room sporting her underwear. “Right now, my stomach is feeling empty. I think you’re misinterpreting my signals, Tom.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he teased, “by the time I’m finished with you.” Breaking off his sensuous attentions, Tom knew he wouldn’t win this round. “Okay, food first. But I get to choose desert.”

“Oh,” Kate Paris rolled her eyes, “I wonder what that will be? Whipped cream and strawberries?”

“That’s one we haven’t done in a while,” Tom grinned, while checking to see if their account had enough replicator rations for both dinner and the events afterward. They had increased the number of meals consumed in the Senior mess as rationing tightened further. The planet Neelix suggested had been on the very edge of unlocking Warp technology and out of their reach due to the Prime Directive.

“Bridge to Captain Paris,” Chakotay’s voice issued from her comm badge the next morning.

  
“Go ahead,” Kathryn rolled her eyes. This action seemed to be a constant over the last few weeks. It seemed she couldn’t even have a quiet breakfast with her husband before commencing her shift without someone interrupting them. They’d just managed to secure a secluded table in the Senior Mess and Neelix’s coffee substitute hadn’t touched her lips, which might have been a blessing in disguise.

  
“We're approaching the rogue planetoid, Captain,” reported her Frist Officer.

“On my way, Captain out,” Kathryn let out a sigh. “I want you to come with me, Tom. I have a feeling I’m going to need you at the Con.”

“We're picking up definite dilithium signatures, Captain,” Ensign Kim reported the moment the woman stepped onto the bridge, his attention focused on his station. “The strongest readings are originating from ten to twenty kilometres inside the planetoid.”

B’Elanna had been seated at her Engineering station for over an hour, waiting. It seemed she knew more than she was saying. The young half Klingon rarely exhibited emotions apart from rage and anger. Today Lt. Torres seemed almost giddy. “It also looks like there's a series of subterranean caves with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere.”

Tom rotated on his chair to give his wife a look that said, _it’s happened_. Kathryn held back the sigh accompanied by the eye roll. Unfortunately, her husband had been correct and Lt. B’Elanna Torres, after little more than six weeks, had the Engineering department running like clockwork and treating the Impulse and Warp drive like her personal reclamation projects. Another fortnight on, and even the former Maquis no longer considered her one of their own.

  
“Class M. It'll make mining a lot easier if we can go in there without environmental suits,” Chakotay stated, watching the non-verbal communication between the Captain and Helm. He still couldn’t figure out how they achieved the level of understanding when half of their careers had been spent on different ships. Hogan managed to ferret out their history, going back to the fact a young Kathryn Janeway stayed with the Paris family while at Starfleet Preparatory School with Tom’s twin sisters.

  
Still not convinced that their stocks of dilithium were anywhere near critical, the Captain asked, “how much raw material are we talking about?”

  
“It could be anywhere from five hundred to one thousand metric tonnes. Enough for the entire seventy-year journey home,” B’Elanna smiled, “no matter how much damage is done to this ship. My reactor will be ready to go in three days. I have Jonas and Bandera working on a secure holding facility.”

“We might even be able to trade some of the refined product,” Tom added, “for other supplies.”

“Commander Chakotay,” Kathryn turned to her left and gazed into the eyes of her First Officer. “Take Ensign Kim and lead the away team. Let’s hope we gain enough dilithium to both trade for organic supplies and deuterium. Those are our biggest problems at present.”

Neither said a word, but this was the first time Kathryn Paris placed the former Maquis leader in charge of a mission. It demonstrated how much closer their bond had become over the last two weeks. At every opportunity, the Captain used the opening Tom created to draw the man into her inner circle. Twice a week, Chakotay and Tuvok dinned in the Captain’s quarters. For the last fortnight, Kathryn Paris was finally able to entertain her senior staff with her husband at her side.

Unfortunately, the exercise didn’t work out as expected. Neelix insisted on accompanying Chakotay after studying Starfleet procedures for away missions. He lost a set of lungs and ended up in Sick bay at the Doctor’s tender mercy for a week. _Voyager_ found a new enemy in the Vidiians. In all the discussion with Dereth and Mortura, Kathryn Paris was unable to uncover the width and breath of the Vidiian Sodality, placing her crew in more danger.

The next month passed in relative peace and quiet. The former Maquis met three times over this period, their holodeck time between the Cloud and Phage adventures curtailed. Tom managed to observe each gathering but learnt nothing new. It seemed they used the tennis matches to maintain their cohesiveness while waiting for the perfect time to take over _Voyager_. The only point of note was B’Elanna’s exclusion from every event. He’d checked the rosters and knew Lt. Torres could have made the meetings if she chose. That B’Elanna didn’t spoke volumes about her attachment to _Voyager’s_ engines.

“I’m telling you,” Mike Ayala, one of the quietest members of the Maquis, argued when they group retired to Sandrine’s after their last clandestine get-together. The French bar was now running full time in Holodeck one for the entire crew to mix and mingle. The program had been successful, but alerted Commander Paris when particular events occurred. “There is a reason the Vidiians don’t take the Kazon for organ harvesting.”

“If you go on about that Prime Directive, again,” Hogan, also a relatively introverted character declared aggressively, “I’ll hit you. I’ve heard enough of your Starfleet BS.”

“The Prime Directive has nothing to do with this situation,” Chakotay sighed, sipping his synth-ale. This people were becoming more antagonistic as the weeks turned into months without any real action. “It only applies to pre-warp civilizations like the Nea. They might have had dilithuim, but because they hadn’t learnt to use it, we couldn’t interfere in their natural exploration of space. The Kazon are warp capable, as are the Vidiians, therefore the Federation’s policy doesn’t apply in this instance. The Captain’s orders are more concerned with keeping the crew we have alive and well. We’re not to engage unless impossible to do otherwise to conserve recourses. That’s the Federation way.”

“Don’t we know it,” Dana Hallows retorted. Tonight, she’d brought along Valarie Canamar who worked with the Delany sister’s in Stella cartography.

“I don’t know if the Captain’s considered the idea,” Valarie offered into the argument that was about to become heated, “but why are we taking this particular path back to the Alpha quadrant which brings us close to the galactic centre. Paris has to know the chance of habitable planets is greater than on the rim.”

“Which means the number of potential allies and enemies is greater,” Chakotay stated.

“The Bajoran wormhole ends in the Gamma quadrant,” Valarie offered in a timid voice. She’d been a new hire in the days before being swept up by the Caretakers displacement wave. “If we could locate it, the journey home might be a lot shorter.”

“Do you have any idea where it’s located,” Ayala asked, his deep brown eyes shining with hope.

“I know our current galactic position is much closer to the Gamma than Alpha quadrant,” Valarie shrugged. “I’m not sure anyone but the Cardassian’s know the exact location of the other end.”

“Seska,” Ayala looked to Chakotay, who nodded.

“See what you can get out of her,” he ordered. “In the mean time we continue on the course set by our Captain.”

“So, _Voyager_ can make it back to the Federation and imprison us,” Jonas added in a scathing tone, “just like Paris has Seska. If we come out near the Badlands, we might be able to add Voyager to the Maquis fleet.”

“Are you forgetting,” Mike Ayala’s voice took on a deadly timber, “that the woman is Cardassian? She might not know the location of the wormhole or divulge the location even if she does. No, Seska stays in the brig and anyone who tries to get her out will answer to me. I’ll get the location out of her, it she knows it, then we can take the plan to the Captain. It will look better that way, as if we’ve integrated and are trying to help.”

“Tell us again,” Chakotay added with authority, “why you join the Maquis, Jonas?”

Levelling a quelling glare at the security and first officer, Michael Jonas chose not to pursue that battle. He had no love for the Federation, or the Cardassian’s. “So,” he asked, “how is Seska these days.”

“Bored,” Ayala answered succinctly. “At her request, Captain Paris has attempted to rehome her with the Gree and Heindra when we attempted to trade with them. Neither wanted the woman for fear she’d turn to the Kazon and bring their rath down onto their home worlds. Even the Vidiian’s didn’t want her!” Mike attempted a joke. It fell flat.

“You seem to agree with this Prime Directive,” Dana spoke with a soft revulsion.

“I don’t want to see the Kazon unify and create another Cardassia Prime,” Ayala retuned in a tone few had ever heard from the big man. “My wife and sons are living on a planet in the DMZ. I’ve seen the devastation they rain down on innocent populations. Both the Gree and Heindra were afraid of reprisal if the Halik ever found out they’d traded with _Voyager_. Would your home colony risk trading with the Federation and bring down the Cardassian’s?” Shifting his gaze to every member of the Maquis at the table, Mike Ayala knew he’d won both this round and the support of two thirds of those present with his argument. “Mine either. Until we arrive home, I suggest you all get to know the Prime Directive. I might be the only concept standing between us and complete anarchy.”

With that, Michael Ayala threw back his drink, slammed down his glass and stalked out of the bar. Twenty sets of eyes followed him. “I don’t think,” offered Hogan, “we ever really knew Ayala.”

“I think,” Chakotay offered, finishing up his beer, “we were so busy fighting the Cardassian’s and trying to stay alive, there wasn’t time to know each other. It’s something we have to use this time to correct.”

The Kazon-Hakil became aware of _Voyager’s_ intrusion into their territory when the ship was on the border with the Kazon-Nistrum. Unwilling to share such a prize, they attacked with force, sending three heavily armed scout ships and two raiders. It was half their fleet.

“Red Alert,” Captain Paris appeared on the bridge, her jacket open and husband trailing behind also partly dressed. Neither had taken the time to remove more than their outer wear after retiring for the evening to enjoy a meal together in their quarters. “Sound battle stations,” Kathryn ordered.

“Attack pattern Beta four,” Tom stated from the con. “Aiming for the raider on the port.”

“Shields holding,” Tuvok announced. He’d slipped into his station along with the rest of the senior bridge crew.

“One raider is withdrawing, damaged,” Chakotay announced once Voyager turned for a second pass. “Four to go. It seems those vessels are more susceptible to our phaser strikes. I suggest we try Gamma six, Captain, and scatter the Scouts.”

“Make it so, Mr. Paris,” Kathryn ordered, “then get us out of here, warp nine point nine.”

“Shield integrity at sixty six percent,” Tuvok reported. “Damage to decks four through eight.”

“Hull integrity holding,” Harry added. “Another shot like that last one, and I’m not sure the internal dampening system will stand up.”

“Acknowledged,” Kathryn shouted as Voyager rocked. “Engineering, I need you warp ready. Mr. Paris, patch your station into Lt. Torres comm signal.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tom’s voice sounded distracted, his fingers working the board before him.

It took almost an hour, the destruction of two scout ships and the remaining raider before the Kazon-Halik would allow Voyager to limp away at warp seven point five. Now in Kazon-Nistrum territory, no one would uncover Seska’s disappearance for several hours as the crew were attempting to make repairs with minimal energy expenditure. Once they did, a ship wide search was further delayed by Chakotay explaining how the woman might be hiding her life signs with an old Maquis trick.

“There’s a tricorder missing from locker Phi twenty-one,” reported a member of the security team.

“Which means that woman is aboard my ship, somewhere,” Kathryn Paris spat, “and evading us. How much damage can she do?”

Tom’s only answer was to close his eyes. “I know how she got out. During the battle, the energy grid for the brig shorted, which shouldn’t have opened her cell, under normal conditions. Seska’s been lying in wait for something like this. She’s carefully crafted a tool from Neelix’s Leola Root stew to further dampen the force field. When we find her, Seska will require medical attention for burns.”

“I always knew that vegetable was inedible and deadly,” muttered Chakotay under his breath, before facing his Captain. For the first time since coming aboard, he felt responsible. Seska was his problem, one of his crew and she might cause enough damage to endanger not only the Fleeters, but his Maquis as well. “Cardassian’s have an extra thick dermal layer in comparison to many species. They can survive in situation where many others wouldn’t.”

“Wonderful,” Captain Paris erupted from her seat, coming around her desk to pace the ready room.

“Kim to Captain Paris,” the young Ensign commed, earning her seething ire.

Rolling her eyes once again, Kathryn dismissed her senior staff before walking onto the bridge. “Let's see what you have, Mr. Kim,” she tried to keep the annoyance out of her tone when approaching the young Ensign hunched over his station.

  
“There,” Harry pointed out a blip on his console, “it's registering only on subspace bands. We don't even have it on long range sensors yet.”

“Verteron emanations. Tunnelling secondary particles,” the Captain knew exactly what that meant. They’d set up the computer to scan subspace continuously for such anomalies. “It certainly looks like a wormhole.”

  
“But is it stable enough for us to enter,” Chakotay asked, “and if it is, where does it lead?”

Mike Ayala was on the bridge by chance. He’d been reporting to Commander Tuvok on the search for Seska. He didn’t need his former Captain to tell him what was at stake. Leaving, he started operation Gathering. Soon, every former Maquis on the ship would be ready to play their part in the mutiny if that wormhole lead to the Alpha quadrant.

Tuvok didn’t miss the meaningful exchange between the security Ensign and the First Officer. Commander Paris, standing at the Captains side after exiting the ready room with her, glanced up to capture the Vulcan’s gaze. Both knew their problems were only just starting.

“There is, of course, a seventy five percent chance the wormhole will not lead to the Alpha Quadrant,” Tuvok announced in his very logical demeanour.


	20. Disspointments

_Three months_ , Seska simmered with rage. _I’ve been forced to live in this prison cell for three months. Even when Chell and Oden were here, I couldn’t see or speak with them._

Standing in one corner of the three-metre square pen, her view encompassed the security guard. Sanding at her station, the woman obviously didn’t care for the Cardassian inmate. Occasionally she looked within the windowless space, her hand going automatically to her weapon. This made Seska smile. _If, no when_ , Seska’s mind stated, _I get out, I’m going to make that woman terrified for her life. As if she can control me and when I go to the privy or shower. They think they have so much power, they don’t know a Cardassian, how we are trained, what we can endure. I’ll teach them, then take Voyager and become the greatest power in this region of the Galaxy. Captain and Commander Paris will answer to me!_

It took the, now fully, Cardassian spy a month to receive something other than ration bars after being incarcerated. At first Seska thought she was being deliberately deprived of every comfort as punishment. After the first waves of rage subsided, she started to listen to the guards talk quietly among themselves. It seemed the entire compliment of _Voyager_ were on ration packs until someone called Neelix and that traitor Chell set up an old-fashioned galley. That’s when the gelatinous muck started appearing twice a day. After a week of the horrid soupy stew, Seska knew it was the only item she might be able to turn into a weapon. The brig had been well designed to keep prisoners, even ones as talented as her, within its walls permanently.

Meal by meal, the Cardassian separated a single component from the horrid gelatinous muck, testing it by drying the ingredient, exposing it to the forcefield holding her in the cell, hydrating it, mashing it into a paste. After nine weeks she’d settled on something called Leola Root. When there had been two guards in the early days, when the Maquis were being trained in Starfleet protocol, Seska heard them speak of the horrid vegetable and how only Neelix used it in his cooking.

Leola proved to be a unique substance. Mashed, it could be layered to increase tensile strength, then moulded and dried into any shape. The resulting blade was enough to harm but not kill. Mashed and retaining a large percentage of water, Seska could coat her body and decrease the burning effect of the forcefield holding her. She had several burnt fingers to prove her theory. Using a large lump and sculpting a tool, then allowing it to dehydrate, she could further disrupt the energy screen keeping her in this cage, if only the main circuit overloaded for just a second or two.

When the Kazon-Halik attacked _Voyager_ , an opportunity presented itself. Woken by the shuddering of the ship, Seska pretended disinterest. The guard seemed distracted, constantly focusing his attention on the door, as if he would be called to a more active duty. Her training had not encompassed this new class of vessel, yet Starfleet brigs hadn’t changed in more than a century. When the forcefield flickered and the alarms started, she made her move.

Already covered with the Leola root paste, she exploited the moments of inattention by her sentry, Seska reached through the energy barrier searing her flesh as she searched for the auxiliary control panel obscured almost arm’s length away. Using the Leola root tool, the Cardassian spy opened the well concealed flap and embedded it into the inner workings, shorting the already overloaded circuits. The screen now at less than minimal power, Seska stepped through, her extra layers of epidermis disintegrating along with the Leola root paste. Cardassian skin would regenerate within a few days, however her left hand would take longer and require the lifting of a dermal regenerator, which she’d appropriate with a tricorder to hide her life signs. She still had her dominate right hand which held the Leola root blade. Before the guard could draw his phaser, she disabled him with a single, well placed blow.

Smirking, she took the phaser but left the tricorder. She needed a partial medical model for her plans. Unable to access the computer and unwilling to let the entire security team know she’d escaped, Seska approached the door. It opened easily. Steeling down the corridor, she found a Jeffery’s tube hatch and entered quickly. She needed to find the tricorder first then tools to access the EPS conduits. Engineering would be out. Lt. Torres, her mind spat the traitorous woman’s name, would know if a hyper spanner had so much as moved within seconds. The tricorder proved easy, the tools less so. Surprisingly, it was the ex-Maquis who didn’t return their equipment to it assigned location who created the opportunity to expand her cache of resources. Which meant Captain Paris ran a very tight ship were her Starfleet crew were concerned and Chakotay continued to be a screw up. It would make Seska’s escape harder but not impossible.

By the time the battle was over and the senior crew uncovered Seska’s escape, she’d concealed her life signs and was working on contacting the Kazon. Evading the Starfleet personnel for the next week became a game with the Cardassian. Finally, it happened, an un encoded transporter signal. Commander Paris had locked down several systems with his Intelligence programs which Seska couldn’t break. A wide smile covered her face as she prepared to disappear from _Voyager_. It wouldn’t be the last time she walked these decks.

“The next time,” she swore softly, “I’ll be the one in charge. Captain and Commander Paris will rue the day they put me in a cage.”

With that, a beam caught the Cardassian spy and spirited her away.

~~~==\\\//===~~~ 

“I've gone over and over the transporter logs,” B’Elanna tried to explain her reasoning. It seemed correct, she just hadn’t accounted for the time shift. “There's no question that if we try to transport ourselves through that wormhole, we'll end up twenty years in the past.”

“Then let’s do it,” Harry enthused, looking at the senior staff gathered in the meeting room with a pleading expression. “It's better than trying to spend the next seventy years attempting to get home.”

“We'd be going back to a time when you were only two years old,” Tom sighed.

He understood the younger man’s need to get home. Both Paris’s had more than enough reason for returning to the Alpha quadrant as quickly as possible. _Besides_ , Commander Paris concluded mentally, _I still have the Seska issue to clean up. I can’t leave her here in the Delta quadrant to run riot. Kate wouldn’t like it, yet I feel I have to find that woman and put a stop to whatever she’s planning. If that means staying behind, then so be it_.

  
“I know you're disappointed, Harry, we all are,” Kathryn tried to sound sympathetic. The last month, losing more than half her ships energy supply, making a new enemy of the Vidiians, not locating anyone to trade with and finally finding themselves in the Kazon-Nistrum region with a damage ship had taken a toll on the Captain.

For the first time, Chakotay came to her rescue. The First Officer noticed the fatigue plaguing the woman and the looks of concern emanating from both Commander’s Paris and Tuvok. It seemed the Captain did have her limits, not that his people had made this situation any easier. Chakotay wondered if anyone else would have survived as well under the pressure of the last fortnight’s events. Being married seemed to be a protective factor, yet Tom Paris had his own issues in the form of Seska. Both Captain and Commander Paris appeared fatigued. Now might be the perfect time to mount a munity, yet Chakotay felt disinclined to add yet another issue to the many _Voyager_ was facing, at least until they were closer to the Alpha quadrant.

“Going back,” the former Maquis leader offered the Ensign in a compassionate tone, “would pollute the time line to such an extent that the consequences would be unimaginable.”

“To that end,” Kathryn Paris locked her eyes on the Romulan, “I'm afraid we'll have to send you back alone, and ask that you not reveal anything that has happened.”

“I can assure you, Captain,” the scientist agreed, “I would not do anything that might contaminate the future and perhaps harm the Romulan Empire, but, in twenty years I could alert Starfleet not to launch the mission which sent you here.”

“I'm afraid that's not possible either,” Chakotay suddenly recalled the discussion with the Maquis about the Prime Directive in Sandrine’s. It seemed longer than a few days previously. So much had occurred in such a short space of time. “We've already had a huge impact on this quadrant. People and events here would be drastically affected.”

Chakotay’s mind followed that thought to its logical conclusion. _Val Jean_ would still have been targeted by the Caretaker and dragged into the Delta quadrant, alone if _Voyager_ hadn’t been sent after them. If they’d cut and run at the first opportunity, it would have been without Torres. _How long would we have lasted against the Ogla?_ Chakotay asked himself, already knowing the answer, _especially with Commander Paris and Cardassian Seska on board? Tom might have proved an asset, but Seska?_

  
“That leaves us with our original request. In twenty years, would you relay our personal messages to Starfleet?” Kathryn asked softly.

“Of course. At the proper time, I will transmit them,” the Romulan agreed, noting the sadness in the eyes of everyone at the table. “If you should find a way back within my lifetime, I will be an old man, but I would welcome a message from you. I am Telek R'Mor of the Romulan Astrophysical Academy.”

  
Only after Telek transported to his vessel, seventy thousand light years distant and twenty years in the past did Tuvok and Tom drop their bomb shells.

“I'm sorry to report Doctor R'Mor died in 2367,” Tuvok announced dispassionately.

Before Captain Paris could answer, a chirp issued from her husband’s sleeve. Without even her knowledge, Tom had incorporated the Intelligence comm into his regular uniform. It was linked to the stand-alone computer in his office. He’d carefully coded it for several situations, none of which would end well for _Voyager_ and her crew.

“Paris, Alpha One. Erect level ten forcefield around this transporter room. Report,” Commander Paris barked at _Voyager’s_ main computer. Meeting the eye of Captain Paris and Lt. Commander Tuvok, he knew they would understand the reason he’d dismissed the Transporter Chief and insisted on completing the task himself. Even the expenditure of energy would be appropriate, if his biggest fear became fact.

“The escaped prisoner, Seska, is no longer aboard.”

“Rout of escape?” Tom demanded.

“Transporter.”

“Destination?” Tom asked, his heart sinking.

“Tom,” Kathryn turned her gaze on her husband before the computer could answer. “This is not your fault.”

“No,” he spat, “then whose is it? I knew what she was going to do.”

“Commander,” Tuvok started, only to halt at the expression Commander Paris levelled at him. They had worked tirelessly over the last three months to stop this occurrence.

“You, of all people know what this means,” Tom hissed, his emotions of self-flagellation close to the surface.

“Bridge to Captain,” Ensign Kim’s voice issued from the comm badge on Kathryn’s chest. With a sinking feeling, she knew what was coming. Before Tom could release the forcefield, _Voyager_ rocked under their feet.

“On my way with Commander’s Paris and Tuvok. Have Commander Chakotay assume the bridge until we get there. Captain out,” the Captain ordered before all three took off at a sprint for the nearest turbolift. “Let’s hope we have accomplished enough repairs to defend ourselves against the Kazon-Nistrum.”

“It’s not the Nistrum I’m worried about,” Tom muttered, dejectedly. “It’s Seska’s tactics. She’s been sending subspace messages through the EPS conduits. By the time I get to her location, she’s gone.”

“We’ll talk about this,” the three senior officers stepped into the lift, “when the battle’s over, Mr. Paris. Then I’ll expect a full report on your activities.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tom frowned. He’d never heard Kate so indomitable and yet tolerant. It would make leaving his wife to pursue Seska that much harder. Captain Paris was perhaps the one person on this vessel who could understand the guilt and duty associated with letting a Cardassian spy loose in the Delta Quadrant.


	21. Ex Post Facto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ex Post Facto is a vehicle to demonstrate the two very different personalities of Tom Paris. It also jells well with cannon and spending time in ‘prison’, only Kathryn doesn’t know about it in this version. Anyone who has been involved with a Special Operations individual will tell you they put that professional side of themselves away when at home. I am using the personality of my father who trained with the SAS on which to base this persona that makes up the other half of Tom.

“But that isn't possible,” Tom stated, blue eyes wide as he watched himself passionately kissing a woman, a woman that wasn’t his wife. Never, since the day Kate had come to him in tears at the death of her father, had he even thought about touching another woman in that way. He’d not attempted to get intimate with anyone after leaving her on Herra with the intention of refusing Justin’s proposal of marriage. As far as Cadet Thomas Paris had been concerned, Lt. Kathryn Janeway had been his Fiancée from that moment on. 

“I'm sure it's disorienting to see yourself through another man's eyes,” the Banean doctor sympathised.

“No,” Tom managed to break the chemical restraint and sit up. Looking the feather capped man in the eye he stated in a determined tone, “you don’t understand. I would never cheat on Kate. There is no way I kissed that woman. Hell, I can’t even remember her name.”

“Every man can be tempted,” the Doctor smirked. This didn’t fit with his plans. The alien was not meant to be involved with one of his own kind. They were looking for a man of suspect character, a rogue and play boy type, one who would take the bait of an incredibly attractive Mrs. Lidell Ren. That’s why, the Doctor considered, we insisted on two males for this meeting. Initially the Captain wanted to accompany the pilot. It turns out the woman is a scientist and able to understand Dr. Ren’s research. Besides, Voyager’s reputation precedes it and every society has its pilots. We all know their stereo type. It came as somewhat of a surprise when this man suggested Ensign Kim attend as the scientific attaché, yet his reasoning was sound. Perhaps we have missed a vital clue to Thomas Paris’s character. 

“This isn't the way it happened,” Tom protested, being pushed down onto the couch in a room that seemed far too much like a counsellor’s office for his liking. After every mission, there had been a debrief and he hated them. His defences always rose when forced to detail his most intimate thoughts with anyone but his wife. Kate had always been his vulnerability and his strength. Commander Paris would do anything to return home to Kathryn Paris but he would never let her know the details of his missions. Those remained locked in a vaulted area of his mind, never to be let out unless under life threatening duress. 

“The trial's over, Mr. Paris,” the Doctor announced somewhat smugly two hours later. “There's no point to further denials. Let the record show that the sentence of the court has been carried out. For the rest of your natural life, once every fourteen hours, you will relive the last moments of your victim's life. May the fates have mercy on you, sir.”

With that, the two guards dragged Tom to his feet somewhat roughly. They’d never know Tom Paris had been treated with even less respect when captured by the Cardassian’s three years previously. Between them, they returned him to his cell, luxury by comparison to some he’d inhabited in his career. Still recovering from the ordeal and attempting to integrate these new engrams what weren’t his, Commander Paris’s Intelligence training took over. His mind had been taught to fight against all types of torture if captured. Collapsing onto his bed, Tom held his aching head and tried to picture his wife. Kate, the memories they’d made over the course of their marriage would sustain his sanity until Voyager came for him, and he knew Captain Paris would move half the galaxy to ensure the return of her husband. Until then, he had to endure these odd reflections every fourteen hours.

Commander Paris’s sub-conscious had considered something like this very situation. Tom knew making the decision to overrule his Captain and lead this away mission had been correct. This struggle between the Numiri and the Banean sent shivers of disquiet down Tom’s spine. He’d listened to every word Neelix spoke when answering Captain Paris’s questions about the interplanetary civil war. Not happy with the ubiquitous answers, Tom’s training demanded he clarify several points. It seemed even the Kazon-Nistrum avoided this region of space. Questioning the Talaxian carefully, he’d heard enough to realise Kate would make a good hostage or scape goat if things didn’t go well.

The moment the ready room doors closed behind Neelix, Tom stated, “I’m pulling Intelligence rank on this one, Captain.”

“Why?” she demanded, her grey eyes turning to flint. Yet her husband didn’t flinch. Weeks ago, she learnt this man, the Commander standing before her, was not the Tom Paris she’d married. He was an entirely unknown entity and capable of actions Kathryn would rather not imagine.

“I hunch, Captain,” Tom stated, his own orbs clouded and staring at the wall behind Kate’s desk. “I need to establish if Mr. Neelix’s information on the Numiri is correct.”

“Let’s wait until we encounter them before taking further action,” Kathryn offered.

Shaking his head, Tom didn’t want to make his suggestion an order. “Let me be very clear Captain. I can only assume, as a bargaining chip, you are the best the Banean or the Numiri could hope for. In this case I must insist you remain on Voyager. I will be speaking with Commander Tuvok and placing my actions in my Intelligence log.”

“I see,” Kathryn stood carefully, approaching the officer on the other side of her desk standing at ease. The closer she got, the more the Captain observed. There was nothing at ease about Commander Paris. His body vibrated with energy, as readying himself for some action to his personal detriment. “I can also see you are not going to divulge any further information. Dismissed.”

Turning without a word, Tom marched out of Kate’s office and back to the con. He scrutinised the initial interactions between Voyager’s Captain and her Numiri counterpart. The exchange furthered his distrust of both races as Tom asked himself why the Numiri would seclude the Banean on their home world and the latter’s entire economy subsisted of Weapons Research. He would have to be on his guard for the entire away mission. They would need to sneak onto the Banean home world in a small two-man shuttle which increased Tom’s level of suspicion further. The whole situation stank. The twentieth century had a saying about fish that came to his mind.

After three cycles he was dragged out of his cell once again. The hours in between were tedious. The Banean guards wouldn’t let him access their computer system, even for entertainment leaving him bored with little to do but think about his life on Voyager and his wife. Each recall of Dr. Ren’s memories caused increasing levels of pain. The last time, he’d almost passed out. The Banean authorities didn’t seem to acknowledge his growing discomfort, or care. 

Aware of the half a dozen individuals seated in the office that looked like a councillor’s apartment, Tom refused to give away the relationship between himself and Kate. He’d, incorrectly, concluded the Doctor was going to question him again. When he recognised the Starfleet issue patient shoes, Tom’s surprise showed.

“Captain,” he looked up from the lounge he’d been thrust onto by his guards with an ironic smile.

“Are you all right, Tom?” Kathryn sat close enough for their hips and thighs to touch. Just the feel of her husband after six days caused a sigh to escape her tight control. Of its own volition, a hand curled around his shoulder and gave a quick squeeze, as if they were at the Con on Voyager.

“That’s a relative term,” Tom teased, looking between Kate and Tuvok. Yet the expression faltered for just a moment. “I've been better.”

Once again, the Security Officer came to his rescue, asking if the Captain could have a few moments alone with her subordinate. Minister Kray agreed immediately and withdrew. He’d observed the callous way his county men had treated the off-worlder. On Banean, once a man had been punished, that was the end of the matter. Mr. Paris would live with his sentence for the remainder of his life.

“Commander,” Tuvok didn’t waste a minute, “I assume you did not murder Professor Ren? That the possibility of a situation such as this is the reason you wished to lead this away mission.”

“Then how could Dr. Ren’s memories identify Tom?” Kathryn asked after her husband nodded silently.

“Were you having improper relations with his wife?” Tuvok demanded, as only a Vulcan can, in a monotone. If looks could kill, Kate would now be the one on charges. It brought a smile to Tom’s features which faded just as quickly.

“I observed several pertinent details the Banean justice system refused to consider,” Tom stood, feeling the commencement of another cycle. He could ignore much of the memory. He’d done much worse in the name of the Federation and would do so again, when they caught up with Seska. “Initially the talks were to take place at Dr. Ren’s office in the Weapons Research Facility. Mrs. Ren called, arm candy, that’s what we’d call her on Earth. Young enough to be Ren’s daughter. Anyway, she whined about his lack of courtesy but invited us back to their apartment for evening meal. Once we got there she made a scene about adding something called Rolk to the stew to make enough for four people and how inconsiderate her husband tended to be. Ren agreed that their personalities were polar opposites. It didn’t take long to establish that their marriage is over. She told Ren they were finished the same evening he was killed.”

“That does not answer my question,” Tuvok raised his left eyebrow.

Before Kate could say a work, Tom’s anger exploded. “My wife has every reason for the absolute trust she places in me when I am on a mission, Commander. I stated at my so-called trial, I would never betray Kate. I spent some time with Mrs. Ren while Harry and the professor were working. My aim was to gather intelligence on the scocio-political situation between the two worlds. Mrs. Ren graduated as a political major but never needed to work due to her fortuitous marriage. Under no circumstance did I reveal my real mission. I played along with her ruse, of looking for a quick fling with an off-worlder. The most damming evidence…”

Collapsing into his wife’s arms, Tom could no longer ignore the implanted memories. He needed to tell them about Mrs. Ren refusing to eat the meal but ensuring her dog consumed a lump of the meat like substance to show it was completely safe for human consumption. Commander Paris though the show odd at the time. Unfortunately, he’d fallen for her trap, just as he assumed Harry and Dr. Ren did. It was the only explanation as to why all three would never remember the hours after dinner which allowed this murder to occur. Even with the pain lancing through his cortex, Tom was aware of Kate’s hold on him, her cries, demanding to know what was happening. Minister Kray finally releasing him to into the Captain’s care and allowing Tom to travel to Voyager to seek medical attention from his own people. He endured the doctors prodding and poking, both in the two cycles and in between when the EMH insisted he remain in sick bay. Tuvok requested permission and was given access to Tom’s implanted engrams during a cycle. The Security Office worked tirelessly for over thirty hours to come up with a defence that would stand up against the Banean officials’ disbelief of his innocents. The Vulcan insisted on an ARA scan while questioning Tom after a mind Meld to observed the crime. It would come back unblemished, thanks to his training but mostly because he was telling the absolute truth. Finally, Commander Paris was to be transported back to his prison cell via shuttle craft.

“Shuttle to Voyager,” Harry reported. So far everything had gone to plan. “They've locked a tractor beam on us.”

“Offer no resistance, Harry,” the Captain ordered. Commander Chakotay had been advised of the complete situation and how they were using Mr. Paris as bait. The senior bridge officers looked at each other, understanding Tuvok’s plan was the final fact they needed to absolutely prove Tom’s innocence.

On the main screen, the bridge crew watched the shuttlecraft being dragged towards the stern of the Numiri patrol ship. Three aliens entered via the hatch with a tricorder type device in their hands. The one holding the equipment indicated Tom was the person they were looking for. Before they could apprehend the man, both Commander Paris and Ensign Kim disappeared in a beam of light. If the look on their faces were any indication, the Numiri did not possess transporter technology. The meeting with Minister Kray absolved Thomas Paris of the crime. Tom could have kicked himself for not considering the Banean symbols appearing at the bottom of his implanted engrams as important. That had been the key and thankfully Tuvok realised their importance.

“Tuvok,” Tom offered quietly. As usual the Vulcan sat alone in the Senior Officer’s mess unless he wished to speak of the Captain’s welfare with her husband. On this occasion, after having the Banean device removed and being returned to Voyager, Tom wanted to thank the Security officer for his dedication.

“Mr. Paris,” that eyebrow once again rose.

“There are some who'd say you risked my future on the eyewitness identification of a dog,” Tom teased lightly. If anyone on board Voyager understood Commander Paris’s unique training and abilities, it was this very logical and silent man, now looking at him with an unreadable expression. However, the glint in Tuvok’s eyes, Tom hoped, was a sigh of understanding and trust.

“It seemed a necessary step to ensure a truthful resolution,” he stated easily. “I conducted a criminal investigation. If you had been guilty, I assure you I would have pursued the truth just as vigilantly.”

“But,” Tom took the seat across the table, “that’s the material point, isn’t it, Commander? We both knew I was innocent, that the opportunity between two warring factions was ideal for some form of mischief.”

“The only data we were missing,” Tuvok concluded, finally getting a glimpse into the Intelligence Operative mind, “was why?”

“How come I always see you down here eating alone?” Tom enquired, feeling the time for thanks had passed with the unemotional Vulcan and they’d come to an understanding without the aid of words.

“I prefer to read rather than engage in, what do humans call it? Short talk?” came the succinct response.

“Close enough. You don't make many friends that way. Nor does the Captain with Kate attempting to keep a distance between herself and the crew. I would be a shame if you couldn’t demonstrate your long-standing acquaintance in a more social environment, Commander. My wife doesn’t have many people she can trust and relax around, but I think you might just be one of them.”

“You point has been well taken, Mr. Paris,” Tuvok allowed that eyebrow to go even further heavenward. “I might even enjoy your company from time to time.”

“And I’ll take that as a ringing endorsement,” Tom smiled, digging into the meal on his tray. “I have to admit, the food in the Banean prison was more appetising.”

“But would it be worth remainder of your life?” Tuvok spoke quietly, intently watching the man seated before him.

“Nothing would be worth leaving Kate,” Tom spat, flinging his fork down.

“Nothing?” A knowing smile, or at least what would pass for one on the Vulcan’s face, flittered over his features and was gone in an instant.

If Tom hadn’t known better, two thoughts would have hit him at the same instant. Firstly, Tuvok had a sense of humour. Secondly, the Tactical officer knew it would be necessary, at some point in the future, for Commander Paris to leave Voyager and clean up the Seska mess.

“Humans have a great propensity for self-denial,” the Security Officer remarked suddenly and off handedly. “However, if in the event you are forced to spend time away from this ship, have no doubt, as one married man to another, that I will endeavour to ensure your wife’s wellbeing.”

“The way Kate talks about you,” Tom finally smiled, “I don’t doubt it, Tuvok.” The fact he’d been allowed to call the Vulcan by his name without rank or a salutation spoke volumes. The two men would work together with more proficiency and trust in the future.


	22. Deception

“I think it's finally beginning to happen,” Kathryn had a smile on her lips as she lunched in the Senior mess with her husband and Tactical Officer.

In the weeks since Tom’s return from Banean, the Commanders joined her at every opportunity making breakfast and lunch times less lonely. The evening meal was reserved solely for the Paris family, except twice a week when the four senior officers ate in the Captain’s private quarters. On the odd occasion, her Frist Officer sacrificed himself, usually when her husband had other duties to attend and became her escort. The animosity between the two men persisted, however they’d come to some kind of working arrangement. Just what the details, Kathryn didn’t really want to know but suspected it had something to do with the private holodeck time they’d spent discussing her.

Today, Chakotay remained on the bridge, preferring to take his meal break at the same time as Mike Ayala. The group had spoken of the increasing closeness between the two former Maquis colleagues, especially with the breach left by Tom’s defection. Commander Paris’s professional opinion considered the relationship as protective. Ayala, as Chakotay’s new right-hand man wouldn’t make a move until authorised nor would he allow any former Maquis the freedom to destroy their chance at taking _Voyager_ from the Fleeters. The Captain and Commander’s knew of the aborted mutiny six weeks previously and the reason why it had been stopped before ever really starting. Every member of the crew was still hurting at the impossibility of using the short cut back to the Alpha quadrant.

“Both crews seem to be getting along,” the Captain pointed out the group of Engineers and Operations officers laughing together. Of course, Harry Kim and B’Elanna Torres lead the gathering.

“That kind of bonding,” Tuvok allowed his eyebrow to rise slightly, signalling his agreement, “should improve performance and maximise efficiency.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Tom added quickly and quietly. The good natured and friendly flirting between Lt. Torres and Ensign Kim was great to see. Their relationship had grown as the months passed. Harry was still pining over his girlfriend, Libby. B’Elanna told Paris the kid was planning to propose after completing his first mission. It made Tom appreciate having his wife on board and feel for those who had left partners and spouses so far behind. “The former Maquis are still meeting every ten to twelve days on the Holodeck, sans our Engineer. However, I’m sure Lt. Torres gets her information from Hogan or Jonas once they return to Engineering. The talk of overtaking the ship has decreased since Seska’s escape.”

“Are you continuing to shoulder the blame for that incident, Commander,” Kathryn asked, her tone particularly gravely. Whenever the Cardassian spy’s name was mentioned, Tom became morose.

Tom answered with a dirty look before throwing his spoon into the sludge on his plate. “It’s going to come back to bit us in the arse!”

“Another of your twentieth century euphemisms?” suggested Tuvok.

“Oh, believe me,” the Captain smiled with delight, “he has plenty to go around. I want to know the general feeling of the original crew, how they’re managing their teaching responsibilities.”

“Coping, mostly. Jenny and Megan Delaney have taken Valarie Canamar under their wing. I’m not sure it’s to Val’s advantage, those two are creating quiet a name for themselves with the male crew. There are a few others forming real friendships, but in general no one’s getting along better any anyone else. No matter how well the officers and crew are trying to live together, there are significant social and ideological differences that will never be overcome.”

  
“I'm sure they will,” the Captain stated harshly, as if she could bring this about by shear will power alone. “It’s going to be a long seventy-five years if we can’t come to some arrangement.”

“I believe the current shared structure will incorporate this new dynamic,” Tuvok stated dispassionately, “with effort required on all sides.”

“I couldn’t have put it better,” Tom finally grinned. “You need to understand the divide will away be there, simmering just under the surface. The former Maquis will learn to do things the Starfleet way, about half have already certified in their field of speciality. A third are working independently, the rest are learning, slowly.”

“How long do you perceive this process to take?” Tuvok enquired thoughtfully.

“At least a year, possibly two. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet,” Tom sighed, “that we may not find an easy solution to getting home. Everyone’s still hanging onto hope.” Glancing across at Harry Kim, the Commander knew the Captain took his meaning.

“Some more than others,” Kathryn suggested.

“Bridge to Captain,” Chakotay’s voice came over the ship wide comm.

“Go ahead,” she answered, rolling her eyes. In truth, Kathryn wanted to stay and talk with her most senior and trusted officers. Even though Tom and Tuvok had made more of an effort to speak with her regularly and she appreciated the gesture, they didn’t always have the luxury of time.

“We're receiving a distress call in one of the lower subspace bands,” the Commander stated.

“I'm on my way, Captain out.” Kathryn picked up her half-finished meal. Looking to the man beside her and one on the other side of the table, she added, “looks like lunch is over, gentleman.”

“It’s always work, work, and more work with you, Captain,” Tom smirked mockingly.

It turned out to be pleasure the Sikari wanted to shower on the crew of _Voyager_. Invited to their home world, the Captain ordered the Helm to follow Gath’s ship. The presents he’d offered on behalf of his people turned out to be all manner of delicacies. Arriving on the planet with an away team turned into a very satisfying surprise after all the bad luck Voyager had encountered since landing in the Delta quadrant.

“If you see anything you like, just let me know,” Gath offered easily.

Gazing into the square, Tom sat on a bench, watching his wife escorted by the Sikari officials. He’d come on ahead of the party while they conducted the official welcome. Commander Paris internally smiled, watching Gath attempting to seduce his wife. Kate was having none of it but it didn’t stop Gath trying.

  
“What is this material?” Kathryn allowed her fingers to touch and run through the exquisite cloth. “It's so delicate.”

  
“It's the latest import from Vedestris,” Gath smiled easily. “It's spun from the petals of a flower that blooms only in moonlight. Shall I have a dress made for you?”

“It's lovely,” the scientist in the Captain was calculating the distance between their current location and Vedestris. Giving her husband a signal, Tom trotted over to join them. His degree from Starfleet in astrophysics would give him more of an idea.

“Gath was just telling me about this fabric,” Kathryn’s hand strayed to the textile again. “It’s from a system called Vedestris. Do you know of it?”

“There is no need,” Gath’s smile lost a little brightness. “This is my associate, Jaret Otel. You may contact him, Commander, to make any necessary enquiries concerning this region of space.”

“Thank you,” Tom acknowledged the man with a nod before returning his attention to Gath. “It is very difficult for my…Captain to accept a gift. I have known her for over twenty years, since I was a child. Even then, she could hardly accept a compliment.”

“Thank you, Mr. Paris, I believe you’d said enough,” Kathryn didn’t know if she should feel delighted her husband seemed a little jealous or disappointed not to be getting a new dress. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept any large personal gestures, Gath.”

“Perhaps something small,” he tried again, pushing between Tom and Kate, “such as a scarf? But what a curious people you are. Tell me would it help if I said that you could have an entire wardrobe made from these beautiful fabrics and that it would give all of us great pleasure to create it for you.”

“I’m afraid not,” Kathryn couldn’t help but be impressed at the man’s audacity. Tom’s face turned stoic. It seemed he was about to laugh a moment ago but covered his amused expression at her glare. Her husband knew her too well. Gath’s insistence and generosity were embarrassing Captain Paris.

  
“Which cloth do you prefer?” Gath redirected the woman’s attention to the display.

“Something green,” Tom spoke in a tone similar to that Tuvok would use. When Gath turned to examine the man still standing a step behind them, Commander Paris responded without the hint of an expression on his face, “I believe it will bring out the colour in your eyes, Captain.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Gath smiled, obviously feeling the officer was no threat to his plans.

“Oh, I think this one,” Kathryn chose the one she knew her husband preferred.

“When I see you wearing that scarf,” Gath’s expression seemed to glow, “my pleasure will be greater than yours.”

_I think not,_ Kathryn didn’t allow her thoughts to be expressed on her face _. You don’t know my husband. I’m sure he’ll find some very inventive ways to draw as much pleasure out of me with this scarf that doesn’t involve tying me up._ A shiver passed along her mental spine at the reflection _. Tom learnt that lesson very early in our relationship. It hurt him terribly, not considering my incarceration with the Cardassian’s and the effects of his unthinking actions._

  
“Well,” the Captain stated in a sudden change of mood, “we should get back. With your permission, I'd like to start organising teams to gather plants and seeds.”

“I’ll be glad to assist you in any way, Captain,” the assistant chimed in, “but I believe the Commander and I can discuss such tedious arrangements.”

  
“Tonight,” Gath spoke, his attention once again focused on the Captain, “we are having a celebration here. I hope you and your officers will be my guests.”

“We'd be delighted,” Kathryn accepted on behalf of her crew. “However, I hope you don’t mind if I bring my husband. Tom?”

Commander Paris watched the Sikari official’s face fall for just a moment and in that instant, he almost caught something deeper in the man’s expression. “I am at your disposal, Captain.”

The following day, her ships larder stocked, their energy supplies replenished to even B’Elanna’s satisfaction and each member of her crew granted a twenty-four hour leave pass, Kathryn Paris and her entire crew should be ecstatically pleased. The only unhappy crewman was her husband. Tom had taken exception to Gath and the time his wife was forced to spend with him alone after the party last evening. Kathryn believe him to be jealous. Gath was nothing if not attentive and Tom had shown himself capable of possessiveness in the past. The incident with Justin came to mind. Yet, Gath continued to play the lothario, knowing Kathryn was married. It did not demonstrate good principles on his species behalf.

“It’s not that I dislike the man especially,” Tom tried to put his finger on the feeling. Realising his mood was upsetting his wife, Commander Paris placed that personality firmly where it belonged. Finding his incorrigible character, he teased, “besides, if the man’s after you, he has to have good taste. It’s just that he’s too old for you, Kate. You go for the handsome, young ones that answer back and can show you a great time, not just a good one.”

“Your impossible,” Kathryn shook her head and threw a pillow from the couch in their quarters at her husband. Sighing, she really looked at Tom. He was trying to figure out this puzzle. Patting the seat beside her, he came like a puppy, placing an arm around her shoulders and pulling Kate close.

“I’m worried,” Tom announced easily. He found the words coming effortlessly within his wife in his embrace. “It’s too much, to perfect. The society built completely on pleasure. That’s not sustainable in the long term. There must be negative emotions but I haven’t seen a single person express them. Where are the labours at the bottom of the pyramid, toiling away to make all those products? No society can survive without a working class, not even in the Federation with our transporters and replicators.”

“You have a point,” Kathryn had been so impressed by the Sikari and their society, she hadn’t though this deeply about them. It seemed the compulsory professional and personal time they spent together made Mr. and Mrs. Paris exposure to each other novel in so many ways. “I’m learning more about you, Tom, that I didn’t know I didn’t know. Why is that?”

“Exposure,” he chuckled. “We’d only just been married on O _lympia_ and it took all of our off-duty time to discover who we were individually and as a couple in those early years. We were different people back then. I think is speaks well of our relationship, our ability to change and contend with all the ups and downs. Now, we live and work together again. There’s very little time or space between us, which can be both good and bad.”

“No,” Kathryn finally broke the closeness, something they’d always had to really examine the man, “it’s more than that. I hadn’t noticed before, but you constantly analyse. I didn’t know you thought about things so deeply. On the surface your always so casual and seemingly superficial, but that’s not the real you, is it, Tom? Somehow I’ve missed this side of your personality completely.”

“I am that happy, careless man,” he agreed, “most of the time. Then something catches my attention and I can’t stop thinking about it. I guess that’s what makes me a good Intelligence officer.”

“Once you have something on your radar,” Kathryn completed the sentence for him, “you can’t let go. I don’t know why I’ve never notice it before. Even on Jupiter station, you didn’t show this part of yourself very often.”

“I didn’t have to. My job was mind numbingly boring. I just wanted to be with you,” he stated easily. There was no recrimination, just a statement of fact. He’d been willing to give up a lot more to once again share a home with his wife. “It was enough, after being apart for years. I would have given up Starfleet altogether if I had to.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Kathryn moved to pull Tom into her arms this time. “I can’t conceive of being lost out here without you. Look, Gath’s in interesting individual, but, your right, there’s something about him, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Perhaps it being so pleasure bent all the time.”

“Getting back to the Sikari, how do they keep the Nistrum from their planetary space?” Commander Paris wondered. “And just how far dose the space extend? Vedestris is almost five hundred light years toward the galactic centre. We know the Borg are in this region. Have they ever encountered them? And if so, how do they protect themselves?”

“Those are good questions,” the Captain’s problems suddenly started mounting. “I think you need to come with me tomorrow and observe Gath. Maybe your training will pick up something I’m missing.”

_Their uninterested,_ Tom suddenly understood. His wife and Gath were walking several steps ahead of him, stopping every few paces to examine some good or service. _Even the shop keeps look jaded. Then again who wouldn’t be in a utopian society. What new entertainments are there, expect for visitors who might provide something new._

“You don’t need to tell me,” the Captain approached her husband several days later. The look, expression and way she held herself demonstrated Kathryn’s professionalism. “I think I managed to figure this one out on my own.”

“Nice use of twentieth century slang,” Tom grinned. “Something is rubbing off on you.”

“Tom, stop,” Kate laughed. “Come on, let’s see what Harry’s so excited about.”

“He almost looks giddy enough to have found a way home!” Tom exclaimed, little knowing how close to the truth his jibe came.

The space folding technology was denied, even though it would get them half way home. The Captain could understand, her own actions reliant on Starfleet’s guiding principle of the Prime Directive. Yet, she didn’t like the shoe being on the other foot and it made her think of all the times she’d blindly followed protocol. The Captain and her husband found themselves emotionally debriefing in their private copy of Sandrine’s after a senior officers meeting to discuss the situation. Together they’d came up with a plan to ask the Sikari to send them as far as possible in the direction of Earth in exchange for Voyager’s library of literature. Tom’s quiet investigations uncovered a multitude of inconsistences in the Sikarin society, suggesting this would not be acceptable.

“I don’t think they will allow it, Kate,” Tom stated mournfully. “I don’t think they really want to let us go. That initial distress call, it was calculated and aimed directly at us, as if the magistrates and officials had been studying our culture, our history here in the Delta quadrant. They lured us to their planet. Every conversation about returning home is cut off, we are distracted by their seeming simplicity. Yet, they have replicators and transporters, or the equivalent which are far more sophisticated than anything in the Alpha quadrant. Their technology, law, politics, health and every other aspect of their society is more advanced than anything in the Federation. What could they possibly want from us?”

“That’s a good question,” Kathryn signed.

As Tom confidently predicted to his wife, diplomacy failed. Harry Kim had been approached by a man called Jaret, Gath’s assistant. He intended to swap _Voyager’s_ literary library for the space folding matrix. His motive, to improve his position in Sikari society which further proved Commander Paris’s suspicions that all was not well on the seemingly perfect planet. Tom, who happened to be in the right place at the right time, heard the junior officers discussing the elicit deal.

“You know this is not above board,” Commander Paris invited himself into the discussion. “I might the Captain’s husband, but I know Kathryn as you don’t. She’s the highest-ranking officer on _Voyager_. Starfleet dictates she must follow protocol, so the Captain is only going to deal with an official representative. No matter how much she wishes to appropriate this technology, all Starfleet Captain’s must follow procedure.”

“I knew you’d say that,” spat a fleeter, one of the two who’s beaten him several months ago.

“And I expected someone willing to circumnavigate Starfleet regulations to get their point across, would also explore any possibility, no matter how morally reprehensible,” Tom ensured he held the man’s gaze long enough for the others at the table to put two and two together. Rumours had run rampant in the days following the physical warning aimed at the intelligence officer. “There is a right way to go about this, and a wrong way. Harry, I’m telling you, from someone who’s been married to Kathryn for ten years and known her almost my whole life, just tell her everything you know. Let her take it from there.”

Nodding his understanding, Harry stood.

“I'll walk you. I was headed for my wife’s ready room and try to get her come home for the night,” Tom attempted a slight smile.

He stood at ease in the Ready room as Ensign Kim divulged his story. Commander Paris watched the Captain process the information as hope began to shine in his wife’s eyes. Tom also understood when she dismissed him to speak with Tuvok. Captain Kathryn Paris needed to check in with her moral compass. For obvious reasons, the person could not be her husband. Then, Tom waited for her in their personal copy of Sandrine’. He made love to Kate before allowing the Captain cry herself to sleep as the weight of this decision crushed the life from her. It was a fight between the two very distinct women and one Commander and Mr. Paris understood only too well.

Unsettled by her final meeting with Gath, Captain Kathryn Paris comm’ed Chakotay to get the away teams off the surface as quickly as possible. She then all but ordered her husband to their quarters. By the time Tom reached deck three, Kate was out of her uniform and fuming. He attempted to reach for her, only to have the woman avoid his embrace.

“Do you have any idea what that man said to me?” she demanded.

“Tell me,” Tom offered softly, knowing his wife needed to get this off her chest.

“Why are you so consumed with this desire to get home?” Kathryn seethed, stalking around the living room, hands flying through the air in an effort to expunge her fury. “I told him it’s where we belong. But he wanted to know why we couldn’t create a new home on Sikari, expecting us find his world a most delightful place to live, where we could pass our time extracting pleasure from every moment.”

“Can I guess,” Tom interrupted her triad. Kate seemed to be tiring as her hands settled onto her hips. Commander Paris took this as a sign he could talk. “You asked ‘for how long?’. We've both seen how quickly the Sikari get tired of any pleasure that’s not new and unexplored.”

“Tom, he just doesn’t, what is your term, get it!” Kate slumped onto the lounge. Coming to sit beside her, Tom dared to place an arm across his wife’s shoulders. That she let him, meant the woman required emotional support. “The Sikari just don’t understand the concept of permanence. The reward of relationships that endure and grow deeper with the passing of time. The fact Gath could continue to pursue me when he knew we’d been married ten years tells a lot about his pleasure-seeking society.”

“I guess some might learn to enjoy those notions if they stayed,” Tom offered with a shrug. “It has a certain appeal, remember when you were younger. Every society has a time period where their youth want to explore, discover, experiment. But then we grow up. A very smart woman once told me that.”

This brought a smile to Kate’s lips, as she remembered the conversation from so long ago. Tom had barely been seventeen at the time, and in some ways, more romantically savvy than herself. “Your right. And that's why we have to leave. No one on this ship is a teenager any more. We have family, responsibility. While the offer of hospitality was wonderful, it’s time to go. I’m just sorry I couldn’t illustrate the differences between us and the Sikari better.”

  
“Pleasure, that's all they really care about,” Tom sighed, kissing the top of his wife’s head. “All that hospitality and graciousness, it was never about giving us pleasure. It’s self-gratification. I’m afraid _Voyager_ and her crew didn’t turn out to be the latest novelty the Sikari expected.”

“They never had any intention of helping us,” Kathryn stated mournfully.

“Some did,” Tom reminded her. “What did Tuvok say? I know how much you rely on the man for your moral guidance. You’d be a fool not to, after serving on the same vessels for so many years.”

“He suggested I have two choices. Continue to negotiate with a man who may have a hidden agenda, or deal with a man who is willing to defy his own laws,” Kathryn said. “Neither is palatable. There's a certain standard I have to uphold as the Captain. Principles, that's what it comes down to. Do I compromise my almighty principles? But how do I not compromise them if it involves a chance to get the crew more than half way home. How do I tell them my principles are so important that I would deny them that opportunity?”

“Kate,” Tom turned her around so he could gaze into her troubled soul while he delivered his own opinion. “In accepting your principles, you are also denying yourself.”

“And, by extension,” she understood, saw it in her husbands’ eyes and knew how hard this decision would be on all of them, “you and our son.”

“It was never going to be easy, juggling the needs of our relationship under these circumstances,” Tom’s quiet tone made an arrow of regret pierce her heart, “but in this instance, we have to consider the good of more than the four distinct personalities we’re trying to juggle. There are one hundred and forty others on Voyager, carrying their own hopes and fears.”

“What do I do?” Kate demanded.

“I don’t know,” Tom pulled her back into his arms. “Honestly, I wish I knew and could absolve you of making the decision at all.”

As it turned out, he had a very good idea once Commander Paris was allowed a few moments to consider the situation. When Chakotay called from the bridge an hour later, Kate apologised but felt she had to return to duty. It gave Commander Paris the time he needed to put his plan into action.

“I take full responsibility for what happened,” B’Elanna stood before the Captain’s desk in the ready room after the illicit trade had been made and the matrix found incompatible with Federation technology.

“Lt. Torres is not precisely correct, Captain,” Tuvok announced, standing beside the Chief Engineer. “She was not the senior officer involved, I was.”

Startled by this confession, Kathryn dealt with B’Elanna immediately. After dismissing the woman, she turned to Tuvok. Wordlessly, she didn’t quite know how to respond to this act from her very logical Tactical officer. The Captain felt betrayed on all sides, especially as she’d made her position very clear less than three hours previously.

“I don't even know where to start,” Kathryn stood, paced around her desk and wore a mixture of frustration and dismay. “I want you to explain to me how you, of all people, could be involved in this.”

“It is quite simple, Captain. You have made it clear on many occasions that your highest goal for the crew is to get them home. But in this instance, your standards would not allow you to violate Sikarian law,” Tuvok watched dispassionate as he prepared to drop his bombshell. “Commander Paris understood someone had to spare you the ethical dilemma and so, came to me with a plan to appropriate the matrix. Although your husband initially wanted to be the person to make the exchange, I was the logical choice, and so I chose to replace him.”

“You did it for me because you knew I couldn't,” Kathryn watched on in horror as the full ramifications became apparent. “Because my relationship with my husband would have been damaged, perhaps beyond repair with this kind of betrayal had he been the one to make that trade.”

“You are correct. I could not allow Commander Paris to place himself in such a situation. I have observed, your relationship to your husband is a protective factor to your command, both under these extreme circumstances and on prior occasions,” Tuvok remained stoic in the presence of his Captains continued shock and disappointment.

  
“You are one of my most valued officers and you are my friend. It is vital that you understand me here. I need Tom in my life and we’re slowly coming to terms with this new normal, but I need you as well. You both serve a different purpose for me,” pausing to let her words sink in, to completely understand them herself, Kathryn glared at the man standing before her. “I also need to know that I can count on the both of you. You are my ethical counsel, the one I turn to when I need my moral compass checked. We have forged this relationship for years and I depend on it. I realise you made a sacrifice for me, for my marriage, but it's not one I would have allowed you to make. You can use logic to justify almost anything. That's it's power, and it's flaw. From now on, bring your logic to me. Don't act on it behind my back.”

“You have my word,” Tuvok found himself strangely wordless and unsettled. “My logic was not in error, but I was. I will do everything in my power to see your marriage to Commander Paris remains intact, Captain. It may be the only mechanism available to you keeping your sanity when other such decisions way so heavily on your shoulders. I am convinced the longer we travel through this quadrant, it will become increasingly apparent such judgements will not be easy nor unique.”

“I hope you are incorrect,” Kathryn really didn’t want to face another such disappointment in the near future. Within six weeks, her crew had come close to returning to the Alpha quadrant on two occasions, only to be disappointed. Yet, if they were to be out here for any length of time, it would be imprudent to consider this kind of ethical dilemma as an exception rather than the rule. Still, it did not absolve Tuvok nor Tom of the part they played in this most demoralising betrayal.

“I will be speaking with the other half of your logic,” Kathryn hissed, not happy with her husband. She’d already considered something like this. They’d survived one incident but even Kate Paris didn’t know how many times Mr. Paris could get away with disobeying the Captain and live to tell the tale. “Dismissed.”

“You’re not happy with me,” Tom stated the moment his wife entered their quarters. He’d been awaiting a summons to her Ready room for a formal dressing down. “But we’re not going to talk about it here Kate. You should have called me to the bridge.”

“I considered that,” came the terse reply. “The trouble is, I understand why you did it and why Tuvok wouldn’t let you.”

“This wasn’t the first time,” Tom said, both determined and contrite, “and it won’t be the last that Commander Paris and the Captain are at odds with each other. We have to find a way to ameliorate all the hurt we’re going to cause the relationship between Mr. and Mrs. Paris. I won’t lose you Kate, I love you too much. I want to finish this journey with you, no matter what we face.”

“Then promise me we’ll face this together,” she demanded. “No more going to Tuvok to save me from myself.”

Nodding, Tom agreed. “You’re not going to like it. I’m not sure I am either. All I can promise is to try. There are somethings, you don’t want to know, that I’m not willing to burden you with, Kate. I hate myself enough for what I’ve done in the name of the Federation and their almighty principles. I don’t want you to suffer the same fate, although I don’t think you’re going to have a choice, especially after this visit to the Sikari.”

Finally understanding dawned. Captain Paris was, perhaps for the first time in her life, catching up to her husband. “That’s what you meant, the day you said I don't want this darkness in our lives any longer. It's time for some uncomplicated happiness.”

“Yes,” came the mournful response.

This time it was Kate Paris who consoled her husband. He’d colluded with Tuvok because he knew, knew what it was like to face the kinds of issues Sikari raised. He hadn’t tried to save her, he’d wanted to take away that emotional burden that would never leave. For the first time, when she looked into those blue orbs, Mrs. Kate Paris saw the Commander lurking in the depths. He was always there, ready and waiting to come out but Tom controlled his alter ego, most of the time.


End file.
